Passage of Time
by jelibeanne
Summary: PreDMC.  Cutler Beckett attempts to woo the younger sister of his best friend.  The results are not quite what he expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Obligatory Disclaimer: ** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

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**A/N:** Okay, so I'm stepping away from Norrington -- and a strong female character. And as dashing as I think Norrington is, there is something innately sexy about Cutler Beckett. So I appreciate you indulging me and my new story. And thanks so much for taking a peek.

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Feeling more than slightly overwhelmed by all the bodies jostling and pressing against her as she made her way across the ballroom, Claire smiled politely to various people who called out her name but stayed her course to get across the dance floor. The room was unbearably warm, so Claire quietly slipped from the confines of the party and stepped onto the veranda, into the quiet night air. The house was overflowing with guests, all well wishes for her older brother who had just announced his engagement to Miss Suzanna Bartlow. 

Soon to be Missus William Russell.

Leaning her weight against a porch post, Claire pressed her cheek against the cool, painted wood and looked out into the darkness. It was not that she begrudged her brother anything. But she just wished that, for once, the world would stop revolving around her brother and give her a little time in the spotlight. Having an older brother who had moved through the ranks of the East India Trading Company with as much speed and tenacity as William had made Claire proud, but the important position he held within the company made him, once again, overshadow his younger sister.

And now, the engagement.

Claire knew that men held more importance in the world than women, but as much as she adored her older brother, she was tired of hearing about how smart William was. About how clever he was. About how funny he was. About how handsome William was.

A sigh slipped past her lips in a most unladylike way. Nearly all of her friends were heartbroken over the fact that they had not been picked to marry William. In fact, when Claire had broken the news to her friends, she was met with a chorus of wails. She rolled her eyes at the memory and took in as deep a breath as her stays would allow. The fresh air helped erase some of her irritation, but Claire knew it would instantly return as soon as she went back inside. So she lingered in the cool evening air.

Seven years younger than her only sibling, Claire found she had an aptitude in languages and math that her brother did not share. But he had a way with words that drew people to his side like children to freshly baked cookies. So while their tutor pressed Claire for harder and more difficult studies, it was her brother who got all the accolades. When he went off to the university, Claire worried that he would suffer in his studies without her there to help. Chuckling quietly to herself, Claire mused that William had to have found someone to pay to help with his assignments in her absence. There was no way he could have passed his courses all on his own.

Claire heard the door open, interrupting her thoughts, and sounds of the party's merriment spilled out into the night. Expecting a berating from one of her parents because of her absence, Claire was surprised when the door shut with a soft click. Boots tapped a soft tempo as they crossed the porch. When they stopped next to her, Claire turned and was surprised to see her brother's best friend, Cutler Beckett standing next to her.

Feeling her cheeks burn, Claire quickly turned away, finding the swaying trees suddenly very interesting. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen her new companion and Claire knew that she looked older although he looked no different with the passage of time. She had always thought him handsome, if a bit of a dandy. His clothes were impeccable and of the very latest style, but that was nothing unusual. It was the powdered wig that he wore which was so surprising. His normally chestnut tresses were hidden under a mountain of white. She wanted to ask what warranted the sudden appearance of the wig, but feared her inquiry would be construed as rude rather than curious.

But dark stubble peppered his jaw line, as if he forgot to shave, shadowing the dimple in his chin. The bowl of a brandy glass was carefully balanced on his fingertips. His blue eyes shone like liquid sapphires in the moonlight and the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. She studied his profile and came to the conclusion that he was one of the most intimidating – and yet attractive – men she had ever laid eyes upon. Being alone with him in the dark made her swallow hard in an attempt to push back her uneasiness. Despite the passage of time, Claire knew there was an edge to him that she never wanted to cross.

His hands were clasped behind his back, the glass tucked into the nest of his fingers, and he rocked slightly on his heels. His gaze was on the Heavens above and a slight smirk twisted his lips. Claire had grown up with Cutler always in the house. In fact, since he had been running the halls longer than she had, Claire often felt like Cutler belonged to her family more than she did. Even now she deferred to him, waiting for him to speak.

"'Tis a beautiful night. Seems a shame that we are the only ones with sense enough to know it." The self-assurance in his voice made Claire smile. For others, the words spoken would have been small talk, a way to fill the silence. But from Cutler, the words were fact. His poise was impressive, something that Claire had always aspired to but, inevitably, she ended up retreating into her shell when faced with conflict. She just hoped that this would not be one of those times.

Dipping her head in acknowledgement, Claire murmured, "The sky sparkles like a bag of diamonds spilt upon velvet. It is as if Heaven above blesses the announcement tonight. And as always, a pleasure to see you, Mister Beckett. But I am sure my absence had been noticed by now. I fear I must return to the festivities or I shall incur the wrath of my family. Please enjoy the moonlight a few moments longer for me, please."

His head tilted back and his tongue darted out quickly to wet his lips. It was a nervous gesture and Claire was baffled as to the reason. "Actually, 'tis Lord Beckett now."

The abrupt revelation startled Claire. "A thousand apologies mi' Lord. Congratulations." Claire dropped to a half curtsey, unsure of how to reconcile her gaffe to a man that certainly moved to a higher rank in society than she, but who had grown up in her home.

He waved her apology off with a detached air, but then turned to face Claire. The weight of his gaze was nearly unbearable and she stepped back slightly until she bumped into the porch post. Cutler's lips twisted into an amused grin when he saw her discomfort. "And your family knows that I am out here with you. I spoke with your father and told him that I wished to steal you away for a few moments."

Claire paused for a moment, her racing heart threatening to burst out of her chest. If he could show such poise, such aloofness, then Claire resolved to appear unflappable. It was just a matter of pretending. "A few moments? But of course. My time is your time. But I know not what you would want from me. I had always presumed I was the annoying younger sister of your best friend. Of what service can I be?'

"I would like to call on you next Sunday after church."

Glad she was not taking the sip of a beverage lest she choke on it, Claire could not have been more surprised if Cutler had said that he was quitting the East India Trading Company. Cutler was the reason Claire's brother was employed with the company and everyone figured that both men would die of very old age while still in the employ of the company. "I beg your pardon?"

Setting his brandy glass down on the wide porch railing, Cutler then crossed his arms across his chest, looking at Claire down the length of his nose. "Earlier this evening, your brother had so eloquently reminded me that I now have a position in society that I did not have before. And with that position comes expectations. Soon, I will need to have a wife on my arm and a myriad of children 'round my hearth. I have always found you to be one of the most tolerable women that I had ever met and you have certainly grown into one of the most becoming that I have ever laid eyes upon. So what say you? May I see you next Sunday?"

"Mi' Lord, I have no idea of what I should say…" The world was suddenly off-kilter and Claire wanted nothing more than to slide down the length of the column and sit, but she pressed her back more firmly against the porch post behind her, grateful for its strength. Her brother's best friend, the man who had treated her like the younger sister he never had, was… interested in her? And if she said yes to Cutler dropping in to see her, then that paved the way for her own betrothal. Was the man standing before her the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?

"Well, say yes. And please, after all these years, can you not call me Cutler like you did when we were younger?" He scoffed, which made Claire feel about as dense as a block of wood.

"As you wish… Cutler." Claire stood there, trying to formulate words in order to express her surprise and hide her discomfort. Seconds stretched out to minutes as she struggled to articulate herself. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing spilled forth. She could see his frustration building, which only made her vocabulary all the more elusive.

Anger tinged his words. "If you do not wish for me to call on you, then just say so."

Claire knew that the man before her had a temper and the peevish tone of his voice was a warning that he did not suffer fools – or indecision. She would have to stop gaping at the man and answer him… quickly. "I… I am just very surprised. And pleasantly so. Please do not take my silence as anything other than shock. I… I had no idea that you ever wished to spend time with me. I am flattered and very appreciative. How could I refuse such company?"

The look on his face was unreadable, his features a mask. But his words burned right through her. "Claire, you have known me long enough to know that I do not appreciate empty words. Flattery might be the currency of those who play such flirtatious games, but since I do not care to use such flowery words I expect the same directness from others. So, please, tell me exactly how you feel and worry not about hurting my feelings."

Claire felt her stomach tighten and had to look away. So no fancy expressions for the man before her, but candor was not option with Cutler either. After all this time, she knew that there was only one way of which to speak with the man before her – and that was to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Cutler… I am extremely flattered, of that I do not exaggerate. And I am very surprised. But… I had no idea that you would ever think of me as anything other than a schoolgirl with her hair in braids. And I did not know that you and my brother had talked about such things; he mentioned nothing to me. But if my parents gave their consent, then I would very much like to see you after Service."

"Your brother knows nothing. The only person I spoke with was your father. He seemed to think that we would be a fine match. Of course, this was after I told him about my acquirement of the title. How could he have said otherwise?"

The flippancy of which he talked stunned Claire, but she had to admit that Cutler was right. Her father thought highly of Cutler for getting her brother the position he held with the East India Trading Company, as well as the years he spent growing up under their roof. Even without the title, the pairing would be a fine one. Just why was it that Claire felt slightly apprehensive about the idea of living the rest of her years with the man?

_It has to be because you think of him like a brother. More like a cousin. He is more family than potential beau. But he is handsome. Financially well off. And with a title comes lands. Maybe I could grow old out in the country, surrounded by my children and a barn full of animals._

"If my father agrees, then it shall please me all the more."

Cutler smirked and shook his head slightly. If only she knew… if her family only knew… the plans he had for Claire. Oh, there was no doubt that she was very appealing. She was certainly attractive and extremely intelligent. That, on its own, made her a well-suited partner to him. But she was so naïve… So sheltered… So innocent.

So desirable.

Closing the distance between them, Cutler's blue eyes caressed every feature on Claire's face. Her soft brown eyes framed by unnaturally long black fringe of eyelashes. A pert, upturned nose – with a smattering of freckles dusting the bridge – rising above full, pouty lips. Her skin was alabaster white and her features were soft and pleasing. Her figure was trim and her height was slight. He smiled to himself as she tucked a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear.

The intensity of his gaze caused her to shiver slightly and Claire hoped that he would think that it was the night air and not her nerves. But instead of looking away, like she wished, Claire held his gaze. She rolled her shoulders back and looked at Cutler with what she hoped was a cross between curiosity and concern.

Bracing one hand against the post above Claire's head, Cutler looked down at the woman before him. He could see her pulse frantically beating at the hollow of her throat and the gentle swells of her breast that rode above the neckline of her gown, rising and falling in time with her breathing. She trembled slightly, but he was impressed at how she tried to appear carefree, but she just looked fragile. In fact, she looked just like the porcelain dolls he remembered her playing with as a child.

His knuckles grazed the soft skin of her cheek and Cutler had to smile as Claire tried not to flinch. As he reached the sharp line of her jaw, Cutler had to remind himself not to see if his hand would fit around her throat. Instead, his hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers snaking through her hair. Claire could feel her coif pulling loose and knew that people would suspect the cause when she went back inside. A sudden jerk of her head pulled a small cry from her lips and Claire saw the amusement in Cutler's eyes.

He silenced her surprise by lowering his lips to hers and laughed quietly against her mouth when Claire went rigid in fear. Slipping his other arm around the hollow of her back, Cutler pulled Claire against him so she could feel his passion. As soon as their hips touched, her mouth opened in protest and her hand began to push at his shoulder. Ignoring her physical protest, Cutler took advantage of her parted lips and let his tongue delve into the velvety recesses of her mouth.

Knowing that she was pure, knowing that she was untouched, made his pants feel even tighter. And while she was not meeting his kisses in return, her reaction was nonetheless evident – and receptive. A slight moan came from the back of her throat and the tips of her breasts hardened into steel points that bore into his chest. The hand that had been pushing at his chest now clung to his upper arm. The other hand cupped his elbow – not quite a protest, but not quite an embrace.

Cutler did not ravage her mouth, as much as he wanted to, but slowly and thoroughly kissed her until he got a tentative response. Once he got what he wanted – his kissed returned, no matter how slight – Cutler released her and bowed slightly. There would be time to enough to push her further sometime in the near future. And how he would forward to that.

"I will leave you so that you may have a few moments to repair yourself. If possible, save me a dance for later." And with a kiss to the back of her hand, Cutler treated back into the house, noise and light spilling onto the porch before the door closed behind him.

Claire touched her lips lightly with the pads of her fingertips, enjoying the lingering sensation of Cutler's mouth on hers despite the confusion tearing apart her insides. Her first kiss. And while she knew she should be upset that he took such liberties against her person, Claire could not help feeling a sense of accomplishment. Her friends whispered of such acts. She was one step closer to becoming a woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

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**A/N:** Thank you once again for stopping by. I know Cutler is not the most likable of characters and so I thought I would try my hand at making him more personable. But he is a man with many walls and it's taking me a little longer to chip away at the bricks to show more of the man he hides away than I thought it would. The next chappie will be a little more revealing.

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Taking a deep breath, Claire opened the outside door and slipped back into the party, hugging the perimeter of the room. When the party first began, Claire had certainly enjoyed herself – seeing old friends and reacquainting herself with relatives who came in for the momentous occasion. But now, with barely room to maneuver, she found herself feeling a rising sense of panic. She knew most everyone at the party, so it was not the idea that she was surrounded by strangers. It was the fact that there was no place to retreat and be alone. There was no place to escape and have a moment of solitude. No place to go and find herself after getting lost amongst the revelers. Going outside and seeing no one – save Cutler – had been a serendipitous twist of fate, but now, there was no where to go but back into the warm press of bodies. 

Seeing her mother waving to her, Claire pried herself away from the wall and wove her way through the throng of bodies, making her way over to her mother's side. Hopefully, somehow, her mother had made some place in the house off limits to the guests.

Claire and her mother had a warmer relationship than most of Claire's friends had with their own parents, but there was a sternness in Elaine Russell that still intimidated Claire after all these years. Her father was another story – warm, engaging, affectionate. But a highly passionate woman, Elaine was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry with you and a most willing ally when she was angry with someone else. Even when she was calm, she still did not suffer fools and expected those in her presence to not only be aware of the world around them, but also aware of their place in the world.

Grabbing her wrist, her mother drug Claire from the makeshift ballroom that normally acted as their massive parlor and whisked her through the kitchen, bypassing the suddenly confused servants in a whirl, and ducked into the pantry. Shutting the door behind them, Claire's mother set down the candlestick she had grabbed en route and then beamed down at her daughter.

"Claire, dear, I am beside myself with excitement. Not only is my son marrying one of the most sought after daughters in London, but it looks like Cutler Beckett has grown out of seeing you as his younger sister and has now regards you as the lovely young woman you have become.

"Now, as much as I want to pressure you into keeping his eye – but if that does not happen, do not fret – the only advice I have for you is not to be available whenever he wishes to see you. But do not put him off so often that he loses interest. Now, you do not want to do this every time he asks, but do not give Cutler sure footing and think he can always dictate the situation. Cutler can be a bit of a bully, so do not let him pressure you into always doing what he wants. Occasionally, counter his suggestion with one of your own… but then offer do what Cutler would like after the two of you finish your idea. Am I making sense?"

_Only slightly, Mother._

Trying desperately to be cheerful, lest her mother lecture her more on the subject, Claire took her mother's hands in her own, smiled at the older woman and agreed, "Yes mother. At least, I think so. If I am too compliant, then Cutler will either get bored or think that he no longer need confer with me on plans because I have no backbone of my own."

The older woman looked at her daughter with a calculated eye. At seventeen, Claire still lived a very sheltered existence. Her debut Season had been postponed until after the wedding of her brother. But now it might be that Claire might skip out on being presented as a debutant. That is, if she managed to keep Cutler Beckett's eye.

A late bloomer, Claire only recently began to fill in her tall, gangly form with soft curves and polished ease. The poise was still uncomfortable for Claire, but she managed to project self-assurance with more and more regularity. And while her daughter would never be beautiful like Suzanna Bartlow, Elaine looked at Claire and saw a nearly elegant woman who appeared lit from within and who looked approachable and endearing – qualities that would help her daughter make her way in the world just as much as the sharp mind housed inside Claire's head would.

"Well, that is part of it. A man should always think that he is in charge, but a woman should never allow herself to be taken advantage of. It is a fine line we must dance, but that is why women are smarter than men. We need to always be able to outthink them. However Cutler is more clever than most, so you should have your hands full with him. But you are very lucky that someone as handsome and affluent – as well as smart – has looked in your direction. I do not expect you to fall in love with the man, but try to cultivate an attractive… partnership with Cutler."

Claire smiled wanly at her mother, knowing that the expression never quite reached her eyes. However, Claire knew that her mother was right – Cutler was certainly an object of desire amongst Claire's friends. Most of the girls who prattled on about William felt that Cutler would be a worthy consolation prize. But there was something about Cutler, something she could not put her finger on, that caused Claire a twinge of concern. While he had never been anything other than polite to her, Cutler seemed to project an aura of oiliness that made Claire uncomfortable. Even as a young child, Cutler made Claire feel uneasy in his presence.

Wanting to take some of the focus off of herself slightly, Claire asked, "Does William know?"

Elaine looked taken aback. What did Claire's brother have to do with any of this? "Well, no. Not that I know of. I did not tell your brother and I highly doubt your father has. Why do you ask?"

Claire swallowed hard, an action that brought a slight scowl to her mother's face. Not wanting to hear a lecture on the traits a woman must possess – or not possess – Claire continued, "Because Cutler did not tell him either. And I do not want the news to reach him from someone other than Cutler or his family. I know he has a lot going on this evening, but I would feel much better if I went and told him right now."

The look of confusion melted into amusement. "Tell him what, Claire? Are you going to tell William that his best friend is dropping by to see you next Sunday? Do you think that tonight, surrounded by all those well-wishers, that your news will be important enough to distract him from his party? He just announced his engagement – to be married. This is his night to be important. And I really do not want anything to distract from that. Besides, Cutler might not have the intentions we are presuming."

Unable to find an argument to counter her mother, Claire nodded her head, silently agreeing with her mother – even though she secretly felt otherwise inside. There was no way that Claire could confess to her mother that Cutler had not only stolen her first kiss from her lips, but that he had impressed upon her his arousal. There might be a lot of presumption on her part, but if he was not interested in the possibility of someday marrying her, Claire was at a loss as to his intentions.

There was a nagging feeling in the back of Claire's mind that not telling William was going to be a huge mistake. Once they went back out into the party, Claire decided that she was going to override her mother's dismissal of the news that Cutler was possibly wooing William Russell's baby sister. Claire somehow knew there would be repercussions if no one in the family told her brother.

Pulling Claire from her thoughts came her mother's voice. "Come. Let us return to the party. I am sure our absence has been noticed." Once Elaine made a decision, no one could make her waiver.

Following her mother through the kitchen and out to the party, Claire looked for her brother, hoping to bend his ear for a few moments. Pausing every few feet or so to chat with a guest or to say goodbye to someone leaving for the night, Claire realized that she was going nowhere fast. After saying farewell to the third person in a row, Claire glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was nearing one in the morning.

_I have to find my brother. _

With renewed determination, Claire made her way through the remaining party guests in a valiant attempt to find her brother before he left for the night. After interrupting several conversations, hoping they knew where William might have hidden himself, Claire made her way to the tables still filled to overflowing with foodstuff.

Until a hand gently touched her elbow, stilling Claire in her tracks.

"Claire, my dear, may I have this dance?"

Closing her eyes and letting a shuddering breath expel past her lips, Claire was unable to cover how taken aback she felt. Her hand arced up to her throat in an attempt to still her racing throat. Pivoting in a graceful turn, Claire saw that it was Cutler who stopped her from her endeavor. She laughed weakly, a nervous response that occurred often when she was startled, and let her hand drift up from her chest to her lips in an attempt to hide her uneasy amusement.

Unable to see the humor in the situation, Cutler looked at Claire in mild curiosity, his brow slightly furrowed. But as Claire recovered from her start, Cutler's features slid from questioning to understanding to expectant, his brow arched as he waited for an answer to his question. Biting her lip, Claire tried to formulate an answer that would put him off briefly – until after she found her brother – without rousing Cutler's suspicions.

Her mother's words echoing in her head, Claire took a deep breath and tried her hand at flirting. "Actually, I am getting quite parched and I was about to get some punch. Would you care to join me? Then, if it is alright with you, we could dance after?" Getting closer to the food might mean finding William.

Cutler's brow furrowed slightly, as if unsure of what just happened, but an amused smile quickly curved his lips and he jutted out his elbow for Claire to take. "But of course," he purred. "Whatever the lady wants, I will do in my power to see that it is what she gets."

Claire hesitated. Taking his arm was a declaration that they were paired off. Although it could be argued that he was just being gallant. However, the late hour indicated that the people still paired off were planning on remaining so. But if his intentions were serious, than Claire realized that this might be the first in a lifetime of moments like this. Her fingers curled around Cutler's elbow.

As Cutler smoothly maneuvered them through the sea of bodies, Claire saw her brother… and the look of confusion on his face. There was no way that she could beckon William over to explain without causing a scene, especially with Cutler at her side. So, instead, she smiled tightly and prayed that her brother would come over and question the familiarity between his sister and best friend – and then forgive her for not telling William of Cutler's intentions sooner. Instead, her brother turned away, confusion still twisting his features, and Claire lost him amongst the press of bodies dancing.

Seeing the look of dejection washing over Claire, Cutler pretended to be oblivious to Claire's unhappiness and made quite a production out of pouring Claire a cup of punch and then handing it to her. Claire took it with a wan smile and looked at the room from over the rim of the cup, hoping that William would return and that they could all share a laugh over the situation.

Long moments passed and it became obvious that not only was William not going to speak to her, but that he had left for the evening. It seemed that her concern for her brother came to fruition. And while William's feelings would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later, Claire had more pressing matters to tackle. Feeling Cutler's presence at her side like a mass of building pressure, Claire knew that she needed to interact with the man. So when Claire was finished with her drink, there was regret when she set the cup down and had to think of something to say.

But Cutler spoke first.

"I believe you owe me a dance."

Shock washed over Claire as she realized that couples had paired off and were doing mixed dancing. And while doing so was grounds for a fine under Cromwell's Commonwealth, Claire knew that as a party's festivities dwindled, the hangers-on had a tendency to become quite… cozy when dancing. The people who would be shocked or outraged by such intimate behavior had long since gone to bed for the evening.

Wanting nothing more than to run upstairs and hide under the covers of her bed, Claire had to force herself to acknowledge Cutler and either agree to his request – or find a plausible reason to decline. But an excuse to beg off the dance eluded Claire. After all, there were people around to witness any impropriety. And Cutler certainly would not be improper in front of Claire's parents.

_What is the worst that could happen?_

Taking Cutler's extended hand, Claire allowed herself to be led to the makeshift dance floor. Unable to look any of the remaining company in the eyes lest they see her discomfort, Claire kept her gaze to the floor. But she need not worry about the other dancers – everyone dancing seemed firmly in their partners' arms. When Cutler paused and turned, Claire allowed herself to be pulled into the circle of his arms.

Holding her much closer than was necessary, Cutler looked at Claire with a bemused smile curving his lips. It was more than obvious that she was uncomfortable with their bodies touching, but he made no effort create any space between them. Instead, he lowered his head so his breath was on her neck for a moment before whispering into Claire's ear, "I am the envy of every man in the room right now."

His breath tickled her neck, sending goosebumps down Claire's arms. Knowing her cheeks were burning, Claire wet her lips and attempted to smile, but found she was unable to summon the effort. So many emotions were running through her head, but it was the concern of what her family's opinion would be seeing her held so close to the man that she considered a second brother that mattered the most. Waiting for someone to come running up and prying her from Cutler's embrace, Claire was more than surprised when her parents smiled at her as they walked by.

Realizing that she had to navigate the unknown waters on her own, Claire frantically tried to think of something witty and coquettish to say in response. Feeling small and fragile in his arms, Claire opted to try her hand at being bold for a moment and, after taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, raised her chin "There are very few people left at the party and those that are remaining seem either preoccupied with each other – or are very drunk. Or both. So I highly doubt that, but you are very kind. And I thank you… for all your kindnesses this evening. There are many other women that you could have bestowed your attentions on this evening. I am truly humbled."

Finding her inexperience so attractive, Cutler knew at some point the simpering would end and that Claire would feel more comfortable around him. But until then, he wanted to draw out the seduction. "Preoccupied with each other…" Cutler purred. "That is a good way of describing it. Now I know that all this is new and a little frightening, Claire. But I promise," he paused, taking one hand and tilting her chin upwards gently with his fingertips. His lips were scant inches away from Claire's when he continued, "I promise that you shall always be in excellent care when in my company. I enjoy your rapport and want you to learn to enjoy mine."

His words caused a chill to run up and down Claire's spine, having the exact opposite effect that he intended. She shivered in his arms, hating the fact that he saw her feeling vulnerable. But forcing herself to acknowledge his words, Claire hoped that the cheerful tone she was affecting was convincing when she replied, "I thank you. Knowing I am in your capable hands means so much to me."

Cutler made his face smooth and benign, despite thinking that having Claire in his hands was almost as good as having her in his bed. Although his hands on her bed would be better than either on there own. And Cutler was looking forward to a lifetime of that luxury.


	3. Chapter 3

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all save for my own original characters.

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His eyes opened to a wash of moonlight bathing the room. Shadows blurred the familiar objects of his furnishings, but there was no sense of confusion… No sense of alarm. There was just the peaceful feeling of warmth and satisfaction. Despite the late hour at which he went to bed, Cutler Beckett awoke feeling rested, refreshed and, somehow, invigorated.

Normally, Cutler would have risen in a very agitated state due to his lack of a full night's sleep. Not one to normally deviate from his routine, Cutler was short on sleep by several hours. But the previous night had proved to be so fortuitous that as he stretched in bed, Cutler felt a sense of exhilaration. Having gone to the engagement party inwardly seething that his best friend was to be married and living the life he wished for, Cutler took William's words to heart of needing to get married and began contemplating potential brides of his own. Only one came to mind.

Claire Russell, the seventeen-year-old sister of William.

Lithe, intelligent, and witty, Claire grew into a lovely, reserved woman – a far cry from the bundle of energy that Cutler once considered to be the younger sister he never had. Growing up in Northwich near the Russell estate, Cutler was William's constant shadow. The two boys roamed the English countryside, always looking for an adventure to fill their days. Less than two years separated the two boys in age, but it was always the younger William who was the leader. Always Cutler who followed.

And another follower, besides Cutler, was Claire.

Almost from birth, it was obvious that Claire hero-worshipped her brother. Wherever William was, Claire was there as his second shadow. Where William excelled at leadership, Claire excelled at planning. Where William was headstrong and reckless, Claire was methodical and thoughtful. And Cutler was always the decisive one when there was any room for doubt, casting the deciding vote, but preferring to let the siblings banter back and forth over the best course of action. All three complimented each other's abilities and the three felt genuine affection for each other. Although the boys did complain loudly to whoever could listen that Claire was too little to play their games, both doted on the child and the three were very often seen playing together.

Claire was normally too small and too weak to keep up with the boys, but both felt such affection for the irrepressible child that they took time to include her in their fun. However, as she grew older, it became obvious that Claire was more creative than her brother – and more intelligent. That intelligence kept Claire from vexing Cutler too often. In fact, when William was studying to enter university, Cutler thought several times that it was Claire who would benefit most from the higher education, for she was the one who helped William pass the entrance exams.

Soon, the threesome fell apart. William went away to school. Cutler became a clerk with the East India Trading Company. Claire continued her tutoring at home, but began to delve more into the domestic arts once the boys were gone. And in Cutler's absence, Claire transformed from an awkward teenager going through growing pains into a nearly grown woman. And a very fine-looking one at that.

And now that Claire's family had recently relocated to London, Cutler was pleased that they were living in the same town once again. Claire's father had recently sold his holdings in several salt mines in Northwich, retiring a very wealthy man. Cutler's father has worked had worked for Mister Russell and at a young age, Cutler swore that his life would be filled with men working for him, rather than living his father's life. And while there was no doubt that Mister Russell was a fair man to work for, all the money that Mister Beckett brought to the company filled another man's pockets.

But it was not just due to proximity, wealth and appearance that Cutler chose Claire, but also her personality. Cutler knew that Claire was completely without guile and was extremely sheltered. With his own overbearing behavior, Cutler knew that Claire's quiet and retiring nature was the perfect compliment to his temperament.

The truth of the matter was, Cutler found true human interaction difficult to achieve. He had few close friends, save for William Russell, so he felt awkward in social situations. It was only when he met complete strangers that he was able to project confidence. And that projected confidence gave him respect and courtesy that normally would have evaded Cutler if he tried to be himself. It allowed him to seduce nearly anyone who crossed his path. With strangers, Cutler rarely found himself in a position where he had to force someone do what they did not wish to do. Rather, Cutler found he was normally able to entice someone into doing what they wanted to do already, but might not know it without some gentle prodding.

A master in the art of seduction, Cutler had cultivated numerous business partnerships for the East India Trading Company – all of which proved to be very profitable for both parties. It was just a matter of knowing how to draw the other person into his web of intimacy. Sometimes it was a matter of gentle persuasion. And sometimes it was a matter of complete misrepresentation. But, bottom line, it was all just a matter of getting the job done.

Women were equally easy to conquer. But once had, there was little interest in keeping them any longer than necessary. In most cases, women were hardly worth acknowledging after their initial bedding, although a few were worthy of repeated dalliances. The thrill of seduction laid in the chase rather than the conquest. Cutler had perfected the look that pulled women to his side without one word being spoken of interest on his part.

The look expressed that no demands were to be made, but permission for whatever pleasure they sought was being given. A tilt of the head. A lift of the brow. Lids slightly lowered. Features relaxed. Mentally removing garments. It worked every time.

Rising from the bed, Cutler slipped a pair of finely tailored trousers over his legs, then fastened the buttons. went and stood in front of the mirror set up in the corner of the room. On a small table, there was a pitcher and basin that he used for everyday toiletries. Lighting a candle, Cutler looked in the mirror and took inventory of his face. Stubble peppered his face and as he rubbed his hand along his jaw, he sighed.

He just wanted this courting business to be over with. He wanted Claire to share his nights in bed. He wanted to come downstairs in the morning to a hot breakfast that she made especially for him. He wanted to come home from work and have her meet him at the door.

Cutler knew that he was pleasant looking. A smooth, high forehead with devilish brows. An aquiline nose perched above full lips that seemed to be perpetually curved into a secret smile. A strong chin topped by a slight cleft. Impish blue eyes topped with hooded lids. Not dashing and handsome like William, Cutler found that as a teenager, women were drawn to his perpetually boyish face and well-turned compliments.

He had grown into his features and gone were the women who had hoped to corrupt a young boy, although he Cutler was still open to any and all attempts – and, instead, there were now women who saw a man who as confident in bed. And that confidence – as well as the bravado he affected when in unfamiliar situations – made Cutler have few lonely nights if he did not wish.

Which was not to say that he was completely besotted with Claire. In fact, it was quite the opposite. While there was no doubt that she was pleasing to the eye and easy to communicate with, it was her submissive personality that would benefit Cutler the most. While he would do his best to shield her from any outside dalliances, Cutler knew that Claire would raise her chin up and look the other way.

After pouring water from the pitcher into the basin, Cutler splashed some water on his face, then lathered soap over his beard. Turning his head to get a better look at his cheek, he took his razor to his skin and began whisking away the hair.

Once he was smooth-faced, Cutler caressed his jaw, making sure he did not miss an area. Satisfied, Cutler smiled at his reflection before retreating to his wardrobe. Standing before the behemoth piece of furniture, Cutler carefully pondered how to finish dressing. Presentation was as equally important as the message. He began to hum as he perused through his garments.

Once dressed, Cutler made his way downstairs, pausing to have a light breakfast that his maid had set out for him by the front door. Grabbing the sandwich, Cutler opened the door and saw the sky was streaked with pink. Instinctively, he knew it was going to be a profitable day and began to whistle a lively tune.


	4. Chapter 4

Obligatory disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

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At precisely two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, there was a gentle rapping on the door announcing Cutler Beckett's arrival. Claire was upstairs having her maid put the finishing touches in her hair, but she immediately picked up her skirts and dashed into the hallway to watch Cutler enter. Leaning over the banister – in a very unladylike way – Claire watched the butler make his way to open the door. 

The bright light of a gorgeous day spilled onto the floor as the door was drawn open. The instant Cutler walked into the foyer, he looked up and saw Claire bent over the railing. Apparently she did not realize that the angle at which she was bent gave everyone below an excellent view of her décolleté. The rose-colored dress she wore had a low scoop neck that was edged with white lace. It was the perfect combination of innocence and sophistication, which nearly caused Cutler to lick his lips in anticipation.

Instead, he curved his lips into a smirk and as he handed his coat to the butler, Cutler called up to Claire, "Good afternoon to you, Miss Russell. 'Tis a beautiful day outside. I thought you might care to go for a ride."

Mortified that Cutler had not only seen her, but that he had called out to her before his presence had been announced, Claire straightened her back and fought the urge to retreat out of sight. Instead, she feigned an air of indifference, despite the quaking of her knees, and set her shoulders in determination. Yes, she had erred socially, but all was not lost. Claire just needed to pretend that she was someone more refined… more sophisticated… than she was in order to smooth the awkward moment over.

Her dress was chosen and donned under the direction of Claire's mother and Anna, Claire's dressing maid. The white lawn dress was perfect for an afternoon tucked away in the parlor, chatting over a cup of tea. But it was not at all appropriate for an afternoon out in the sun. The neckline was much too low and the sleeves left her arms mostly bare. Her mind was racing as Claire pasted a cheerful smile on her face and slowly descended the staircase.

Taking the bouquet of flowers that Cutler presented her, Claire gently sniffed at the roses before responding. "These flowers are beautiful. Thank you ever so much. And I think that enjoying this equally beautiful day is a lovely idea. Let me just put these to water and then get a hat and parasol. I shan't but take a moment and then we can be on our way. My father is in the library if you would like to chat with him while you wait. Or Albert here can pour you some tea in the parlor…" Claire felt like a little girl playing at being grown up. And the feeling was only exacerbated when Cutler smiled at Claire. Her ability to speak left her and she was left standing dumbly next to Cutler, staring down at the marble floor.

Cutler felt an immediate sense of accomplishment. It was obvious that Claire was more engaging than he in conversation, but it seemed that she also had the same sense of social awkwardness that Cutler felt. However, when Claire sensed the conversation slipping away from her, her distress was endearing… rather than aggravating. Watching her trace the pattern of the marble floor with the toe of her shoe made his heart swell. Cutler suddenly knew that his courtship of the fair Claire Russell would go smoother than he had anticipated.

With a slight bow, Cutler looked up at Claire and smiled. "I will go say hello to your father in the library so take your time."

Claire scurried up the stairs where she was met by her mother. Once Cutler was safely ensconced in the library with Claire's father, Elaine hissed at her daughter, "Do not scamper like some pet chipmunk! And do not move into his line of sight until you are announced ever again. Now, we must choose a hat that will keep you from freckling and a parasol to match." Claire's mother then wrapped her fingers around Claire's wrist, her skin turning white under the pressure, and pulled her into the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, Claire descended the stairs for the second time to see Cutler. Knocking gently on the library door, lest she walk in on a conversation her ears were not meant for, Claire did not wait for a response. Slowly opening the door, Claire ducked her head in and upon seeing her father on the far side of the room, beamed at the man. When he returned her smile, Claire opened the door further and slid into the room, closing it quietly behind her.

Placing her hands on her hips in mock severity, Claire spoke to Cutler, but her words were for her father. "Cutler, I meant not to keep you waiting for so long, so I thank you for your patience. I certainly hope that my father has not regaled you with the same stories that you and I both grew up with."

Her father rose from his chair and stretched. In deference to the older man, Cutler stood also. Once Walter Russell had worked all the tightness out of his back, he tried to look wounded by Claire's words. "Now, Claire, is that any way to treat your father? After everything I have done for you? Now Cutler, I hope that someday, when you are bestowed with a houseful of children, your daughter treats you with an ounce more of respect." But the words were softened by the twinkle in his eye. It was obvious that Claire was the apple of her father's eye.

The effect of Claire standing by the doorway, bantering with her father, left Cutler at a complete loss of words.

In the bright sunlight pouring through the library windows, Claire stood there like an angel descended. The white dress she wore certainly hugged her figure, but instead of emphasizing her womanliness, the dress only highlighted her purity. Her parasol was hooked over her wrist and the hat she wore brought out the otherwise unnoticeable color in her cheeks. Previously, her hair had been piled in curls upon her head, but now half of her tresses curled and meandered their way down her back. Her brown eyes sparkled like amber stone and her full lips were curved into an affectionate smile, revealing a dimple in her right cheek.

Cutler barely heard Claire's reply to her father, "I speak the truth. Your stories have been told millions of times. But with each recounting of the tale, I love you all the more. However, Lord Beckett did not come here to see you, although I am sure that the two of you have so much more to catch up on. It has been quite some time since we all saw him last."

Cutler jumped slightly when Walter Russell's hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Cutler, my boy, while I would not let any other young suitors take my daughter out from under my nose, I trust you implicitly with my Claire. However, do not make me regret that trust. The only thing that I ask is that you do not keep her out too late. Call me old fashioned, but I like to have dinner with my family on every Sunday night possible. I just ask that you bring her home by six – at the very latest."

The reality of the moment came crashing down on the two of them. The magic of the moment shattered, causing Claire's carefree quips to dry up and Cutler's awe to dissipate. Suddenly, Claire felt the awkwardness of the situation wash over her like a wave. Sensing her uneasiness, Cutler put up a wall of bravado and smiled at Claire. He then turned and shook Walter Russell's hand and replied, "I shall not let you down. I thank you for the privilege of taking your daughter out for the afternoon. And I will have her back in plenty of time. Now, if it is alright with you, I wish you a good day, sir." The smile that curved Cutler's lips was a genuine one, for the man before him Cutler considered to be more of a parent than his true father.

Claire was grateful that her father did not walk them to the door, but instead sat back down in his chair. Her mother was waiting in the foyer, but only murmured a few words of pleasantries with Cutler before wishing them a wonderful time. But as Claire was about to set out the door, her mother whispered in her ear, "Being out of sight does not mean you should not be a lady at all times."

Once outside, Claire popped up her parasol and as it arced above her head, she stood gape-mouthed at the carriage waiting before the house.

Looking so new that Claire was almost convinced that it had never been used before, it was a pitch-black two-seater with a retractable top to put up during inclement weather. At the moment, it was folded back, revealing the luxurious interior. The bench seat was heavily padded and looked more comfortable than the sofa in the parlor. An ample storage area behind the seat made Claire instantly think of expensive shopping excursions. A pair of matched bays pulled the cart, their coats gleaming like polished gold in the sun. Their ebony manes danced as they ducked their heads repeatedly, anxious to be on their way. The brass of their harnesses nearly matched the brilliance of their coats and the black leather straps reflected the sunlight, obviously the result of long and vigorous polishing.

"They are beautiful," Claire murmured under her breath.

"I cannot see their beauty when I am beside you."

Such overt flattery pulled Claire from her scrutiny of the horses and she looked sharply at Cutler. Was this not the man who said he could not abide obvious frivolity with words? Instead of simpering and smiling like she knew she should, Claire said dryly, "That I highly doubt. It is obvious that you like to surround yourself in beauty." Realizing the implications of her words were slightly self-adulation, Claire quickly continued, "It is obvious that you dote on the animals. And rightly so. I am not fool enough to think that those horses are not your pride and joy. Now, come, I would love to see you put them through their paces."

Cutler had to duck his head, lest Claire see the smile that was threatening to split his face in two. Hidden under that reserved and timid façade was a saucy little minx. It was going to be quite enjoyable seeing how far he could bend her.

As Cutler helped Claire climb into the carriage, his hand grazed her bottom for a second or two longer than necessary. He felt her stiffen in surprise, but smiled to himself when she continued to slide onto the seat rather than turn and smack him across the face. Cutler would not have blamed the woman for abandoning their plans and running back inside, but her acceptance of his behavior told Cutler that Claire would allow him to push her further and further.

Cutler flipped a coin to the boy that he had hired to watch the horses, then swung up onto the seat next to Claire and gathered the reins. Unsure of what to do when she felt the warm press of his thigh, Claire ignored the feeling but did sit up straighter. As the carriage lurched forward, Claire took advantage of the moment and repositioned herself as far over on the seat as possible, under the pretense of switching her parasol from one hand to the other.

Long moments of silence passed and still Cutler gave no indication of their destination. Grasping for something to say to fill the quiet surrounding them, Claire asked, "So, where is it that we are we going this fine afternoon?" It nearly killed her that her voice sounded so small.

His chin rose and a chuckle spilled past Cutler's lips. "Ah, but that would ruin the surprise, now would it not?"

Not knowing what else to say, Claire listened to the clip-clop sound of the horses' hooves on the road and watched her surroundings transform from densely populated buildings to the more open and undeveloped countryside. Claire was surprised when Cutler suddenly guided the horses off the main road and had them head towards a wooded area. Concerned that they were so isolated, Claire felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She had thought that an afternoon out meant taking a walk in the park or visiting some of Cutler's friends. Even having coffee and pastries at a café.

Not traipsing around the English countryside.

As if reading her thoughts, Cutler explained, "I was out surveying some land a few months back and happened upon this area. It reminded me of home. I thought that you might enjoy a brief respite from the city." He then stopped the horses and jumped down from the seat.

Cutler came around to help Claire down from her seat and she smiled at him warmly. Instead of taking her hand and helping her descend, he placed his hands around her waist – his fingers nearly able to span Claire's waist – and slowly lowered her to the ground. Once she was halfway down, Claire realized that she was rubbing down the length of Cutler's person. Her cheeks burned red and she turned away, lest he see her embarrassment. She moved away from the man before he tried anything else similar.

Claire walked around slowly, taking in her surroundings. The glen, with the dappled light filtering through the trees and the dancing water of the nearby creek, did indeed remind Claire of her childhood in Northwich. It just surprised Claire to find Cutler so sentimental. And so sensitive to her feelings.

But not so sensitive to her boundaries.

"So what is it that you like to do?"

The question caught Claire off-guard. She had drifted over towards the creek, watching the water twirl and bounce over the rocks. She turned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Do? I am afraid that I do not understand."

A brow arched in amusement as Cutler drifted closer. He knew that the water would mesmerize Claire and so stopped the horses near an area where large rocks, perfect for sitting on, overlooked the creek. And her confusion made her look vulnerable… which only made Cutler want her all the more. Standing so close that he could feel the warmth of her skin, Cutler explained, "In your free time. Are you not a lady of leisure trying to fill the hours in the day? Sitting around gossiping with other women as you sew edging on handkerchiefs?"

He was too close, so Claire just laughed and shook her head in feigned amusement, drifting over to a boulder and perching prettily. Twirling her parasol in her hands, she continued to smile at Cutler. "Well, the majority of my days are spent sewing, that is true. But it is because I make most of my own clothing. I care not for most of the fashions of late and what I do like, I find uncomfortable to wear. So I design and create my own. And clothing for my family and friends. Very few handkerchiefs pass through my hands."

Looking more than a little awed, Cutler rocked back and forth on heels. "Very impressive, I must say. But when you have free time, time to yourself, time to do whatever it is you want, what is it that fills your time? What is it that you wish to be doing other than sewing… cooking… the endless heap of chores?"

Claire knew that Cutler was teasing her, so she tried her best to be flippant as well. "Well… I suppose the answer is riding my horse, Centaur. Although it has been eons since I took him for a good run." Then she realized what the implications were.

And Cutler processed those implications immediately. Brightening visibly, Cutler crossed his arms across his chest and ambled slowly towards Claire. "Then I think next Saturday, we should go for a ride. I know a little stretch down by the river where we could race and possibly picnic. Would that be of interest?"

Another outing where it would just be the two of them alone, without the benefit of a chaperone, made Claire uncomfortable. She was not knowledgeable enough to know the intricate dance steps that were required to continue this courtship minuet. But instead of refusing his offer and countering with one of her own, Claire felt instant dismay when she heard the words spill past her lips, "That sounds delightful. It has been entirely too long since Centaur got to really let go and run. The competition will do him good. And I think that the last time I went on a picnic was… with you." The memory of the two of them packing a lunch and going down to the creek when Walter was sick came flooding back. "I must have been about nine or ten. William was about to go off to school and you were home visiting. I thought it was only a few short years since you two were kind enough to let me tag along in your adventures, but it has been… much longer than that. Cutler, where did our youth go?"

Cutler closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Where did their youth go indeed? "Claire my dear, you are right in the middle of the bloom of youth. You are entirely too young to sound so jaded." He turned and faced Claire, bemusement dancing in his blue eyes.

Claire scoffed. "Not jaded. Just… I see you and my brother all grown up and I sometimes wonder why I am not also. Then other times, I feel like I have been grown for much too long. I know I sound contradictory, but I feel like I have not moved forward in my life for far too long."

Cutler sat down next to Claire on the rock, much closer than she felt comfortable. But there were limited options and the next closest rock worth perching upon was ten feet away. Willing herself to appear as small as possible, Claire ignored the fact that Cutler's leg was firmly pressed against hers.

His breath ghosted across Claire's cheek. "I think you are at the perfect age, so fret not. Now, last week, I was quite remiss in kissing you without permission. I meant not to steal a kiss, but found myself helpless when in your presence. I would very much like to do so again, but am asking first. Would you mind very much if I kissed you once again?"

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A/N: Thank you for stopping by and taking a peek. 


	5. Chapter 5

Obligatory disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters

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A/N: While not quite an M-rated chapter, it's pretty close. Thanks for your patience and thanks for dropping by.

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Before she had a chance to agree or disagree with him, Cutler pulled Claire hard against his chest. Her breath was ragged against his neck as fear washed over Claire. She tried to wrap her mind around what was happening, but it was all happening so fast. In her confusion, Claire remained unresponsive and rigid... and her naiveté made her all the more appealing to Cutler. 

Cutler then dropped his arm from her shoulders so that it lightly wrapped around her waist, his fingers rubbing circles against her lower back. Claire, trying to fight the rising panic threatening to spill out of her, blindly allowed herself to be crushed against his body. She was very aware of her breasts pressing against Cutler's chest and silently prayed that he was unaware of how her chest rose and fell with each breath.

But then Claire stopped breathing. Cutler's other hand went under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head so that his mouth hovered above hers. His breath caresses her lips and he was so close that trying to keep eye contact was impossible. Besides, the intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear. So Claire closed her eyes and tried to arrange her thoughts so she could articulate some sort of response.

Then, without waiting for an answer, his lips crushed against hers.

There was no gentleness to the kiss. No tenderness. Cutler's mouth was hard against hers. He was staking her lips as his own. His full lips were a heavy weight against her mouth. Cutler kissed as a predator. Taking what he felt was his. His tongue probed the seam of Claire's lips, demanding entrance to her mouth. Unsure of what to do, Claire hesitated a moment before parting her lips, allowing his tongue to surge forward. His tongue teased and tempted, promising illicit pleasures, as it headed towards the back of her throat and pulling a whimper from the depths of Claire's being.

The breath that she had been holding sudden rushed out of her lungs and charged into Cutler. Nothing Claire had experienced in her short life had prepared her for that moment and the emotions swirling inside her.

Suddenly, Claire was in a vacuum. The tinkling of the water as it skipped over the rocks went silent. The birds twittering in the trees went mute. The wind rustling the leaves overhead stilled. All thoughts swirling in her brain vanished. There was nothing but the drumming of Claire's heart as it pounded out its frenzied rhythm in her ears.

And the sensation of Cutler's lips upon hers.

Not only was Claire battling the overwhelming feeling of Cutler's mouth on hers, but the sensations it was creating in parts of her body that she did not even know existed. Heat formed at the meeting of her legs and her breasts became heavy. Suddenly, her clothes felt too restrictive and Claire wanted nothing more than to remove her dress and undergarments, a revelation that shocked the young woman.

Claire was then thrown back into the moment. Maybe it was the shock of her thought. Maybe it was the wickedness of her actions. Either way, she felt her stomach churn. Her skin crawled along her limbs like it was a separate creature. She knew what she was doing was wrong – allowing Cutler to take such liberties with her person – but the truth of the matter was, she was equally divided between being frightened by the man next to her and being frightened by the pleasure such a small act such as kissing was eliciting.

Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire knew that her mother would disapprove, but being kissed by Cutler was nothing short of divine. His body against hers, the taste of his lips, the complete and utter maleness of Cutler was intoxicating – he tasted of heady brandy and dark promises.

And he was dangerous. There was no doubt that Claire was drawn to Cutler just as much as he repelled her. And the danger was what made Claire mad with desire.

Her hands went to his shoulders and instead of pushing Cutler away as she intended, Claire's arms wrapped around the back of his neck as she clung to him. Cutler felt the change in her. She was suddenly liquid in his arms, her back relaxed and her body melded against his. He pulled Claire tight against his chest and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the silken corners of her mouth. She was compliant and helpful, turning her head to grant Cutler further access and mewing in pleasure.

And that change aroused Cutler like nothing he had ever felt. His loins were on fire and he was harder than he could ever remember being. His blood roared through his veins like raging floodwaters. Knowing that he could fast meet the point of no return, Cutler pulled free from Claire with an anguished grunt and let out a long, shuddering breath. In an attempt to compose himself, he closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, mussing his hair more than smoothing it into place.

Claire watched Cutler intently, unsure of why he was pushing her away when he initiated contact. But it seemed that he was trying to collect his wits and Claire realized that she was breathing very hard, too. Pressing the back of her hand against her check, Claire felt that her skin was burning and saw that she was visibly shaking. Then her eyes widened and Claire was overcome with utter dismay as she realized what had actually just transpired.

She, an unmarried woman, had allowed a man to have intimate contact with her.

Seeing the look of terror washing over Claire's features, Cutler realized that he would have to act fast to keep Claire from becoming any more upset than she already looked. Not wanting Claire to protest or question his motives just yet, Cutler opted for another tactic. Swallowing hard to force back his rising demons, he smiled and slid his arm back around her waist. She resisted being pulled back towards Cutler for a moment – her silent protest sending a thrill through Cutler as Claire as it showed a feisty streak – but then became compliant and her shoulder bumped against his.

"If you want me to stop, I will. But I really would like to continue. Would that be all right?"

Did she want him to stop? Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, a voice told her to demand that Cutler take her home. But the warm ache between her legs and the fullness of her chest screamed for him to continue. Her cheeks burning with the intensity of a roaring fire on a cold winter night, Claire looked up at Cutler through her lashes and shook her head slightly.

"Good."

Cutler leaned in towards her and lifted her chin with his right hand. His smile was a cross between amusement and arrogance. Claire smiled back timidly, hoping that she was projecting a confidence that she did not feel. For once, she felt that maybe being so sheltered and inexperienced was a detriment rather than something to be admired. Claire could feel the transformation of vestal to wanton.

This time, the brush of his lips against hers was more delicate. Cutler brushed her hair back from her cheeks and cupped her cheeks in his hands. He then dipped his head and skimmed his lips lightly against hers. His lips curved into a smile as they pressed against Claire's. The kiss was not deep or demanding, but well executed and well practiced. His thumb rubbed circles along her jawbone, helping keep Claire from getting lost in the sensations she was feeling.

It was obvious that Cutler had kissed many times before, for he gently coaxed Claire to part her lips. He leaned in, then retreated, then pressed forward again. When she finally granted Cutler entrance, Claire quietly moaned as his breath, and then tongue, slipped past her lips. Cutler tilted her head back and deepened the kiss, amazed at the response he was able to pull from Claire. His hands slid from her face and wrapped around her back, pulling her to him once again.

Claire was surprised that the tone of his kiss had changed from earlier. Where before he was taking… claiming… conquering… Now his touch was feather light. One of his hands pressed against her lower back and the other danced up and down the length of her arm. She went willingly and even allowed Cutler access to the velvety recess of her mouth when his tongue danced along the seam of her lips. Before, he had pried her lips open to gain access, but now he was asking, begging even, to be allowed entrance.

Unsure of what to do, she mimicked his actions and tentatively slipped her tongue past Cutler's lips. He was pleased that Claire was responsive as she shyly kissed him back. Feeling more than sinful, Claire closed her eyes and rode the sensations created when Cutler's tongued wrestled with hers. Never had she felt anything remotely so pleasurable and soon Claire was drowning in the rolling waves of warmth and tremors of pleasure running along her spine. She arched her neck, her back, pressing her chest against his, loving the way his fingers wound their way through her hair. Pins pulled loose and her hair tumbled down her back, curled tendrils licking at her waist.

Overcome by the sensation of Claire in his arms, Cutler allowed his lips to trail along her jawbone and down the length of her neck. Claire gasped in surprise and pleasure, only stiffening in fear when Cutler gently bit the hollow above her collarbone and slid her dress off her shoulder. Panic set in when he kissed his way down the ridge of her shoulder and nibbled on her bare skin.

"Cutler?"

Ignoring the concerned tone of her voice, he continued his exploration of her skin with his mouth. It was obvious that her body was eagerly responding to his touch. It was just a matter of sending her past the edge of her concern and doubt. His blood pulsed through his veins, thumping in his chest as if his heart were to explode. His need to free her of clothing became an obsession.

"Cutler?" She squirmed in his embrace, trying to get away, but that only made Cutler more excited. And in his excitement, his arms became a prison.

"Shhh… Does this not feel good?" His breath was hot on her neck, waiting in a daze for her answer. His body was screaming for release, but Cutler rode the pain wracking his body, knowing that good things come to those who wait. And while he knew better than to risk stealing her maidenhead so early in the courting dance, there was no way Cutler would not push her as far as he could.

"Well, yes. But…"

"Then do not be frightened. This is only meant to please you." His voice was low and hushed. Seductive. He gently bit at the tender flesh just below Claire's shoulder. When she gasped in a mixture between surprise and pleasure, he allowed a hand to slide from her lower back and gently cup her left breast.

Not giving Claire any possibility to protest, Cutler quickly captured her lips with his and began to gently, but intently, knead her breast. His fingers, were highly skilled, plucked at the nipple which instantly responded, hardening into a tight peak. Cutler had presumed that her breasts were larger, but her breast was solid but soft… and ever so warm beneath his hand.

And ever so responsive, too.

Claire whimpered against Cutler's lips, frightened and unsure of what his fingers were doing to her. Never before had she felt anything quite like the twisting knife of pleasure and pain radiating inward from her breast. She wanted nothing more than to pull back and insist that Cutler take her home, but Claire also wanted to experience all the pleasure Cutler was giving. Torn, she allowed Cutler to continue, unsure of what else to do.

When Claire moaned against his lips, Cutler was able to slip his tongue into the velvet darkness of her mouth. He was halfway expecting her to slap him silly or, at the very least, to push away and demand that he take her home. Instead, Claire grabbed at his jacket lapels and clung to the fabric like a drowning man embraces passing driftwood.

Then, when her tongue slipped past his lips and began to timidly explore, Cutler stopped the assault of her mouth with his own tongue and let Claire explore at whatever pace she chose. The fact that she was not only responding to his attentions, but initiating her own, made Cutler desire her with even more.

Every time her tongue would move, Cutler made sure that his fingers pinched her nipple. And every time he pinched, Claire mewed with satisfaction. He knew she was conflicted, he knew what she was experiencing was new and unknown, but if she wanted to stop, Cutler would… with great difficulty. The more he massaged her breast, the more labored Claire's breathing became until she was nearly panting with desire. The more he massaged her breast, the tighter Cutler's breeches became until he was sure that they would split open due to the pressure.

He shifted so that the hard length of his excitement pressed against the meeting of her thighs. Cutler knew he was losing control and while a part of him wanted to get lost in the rush of consummating the relationship, another part, a more rational part, told Cutler to bring Claire as close to the edge as possible without going over.

But he would need to stop soon or Cutler would sail right over the edge – and all without the pleasure of removing his pants.

He had to allow himself a moment to calm down or all would be for naught. But Cutler gave no quarter for Claire and let his lips roamed from her mouth and along Claire's jaw to her ear. She was practically purring as Cutler gently bit the soft flesh of her lobe. He felt her shudder in pleasure and anticipation. While he was milking her earlobe with his teeth, Cutler took her hands in his and, breaking away from worrying her sensitive skin with his teeth, kissed each fingertip in turn, making sure to give each one equal – and complete – attention. Knowing she was watching intently, Cutler made sure that his gaze remained on her hands at all times. He then went back and nipped at the pads of her fingers, her breath hitching each time he did so.

He then turned one hand over and kissed the center of her palm. Feeling her tense at the sensation, Cutler pressed his lips against her other palm, his tongue darting out, licking gently but firmly. Claire felt exquisite pleasure surge through her and closed her eyes to revel in the sensation.

Cutler moved his lips from Claire's palm to her wrist, and kissed her soft flesh slowly and deliberately. His tongue traced the faintly visible network of amethyst veins beneath her translucent skin. Her hard swallow hard seemed to thunder in the quiet and Cutler knew that her shivering had nothing to do with anxiety or the cold. He was pleased at her reaction and smiled against her skin. Seducing Claire into his bed might take some time and effort, but certainly was an attainable goal.

And while her skin tasted like innocence and purity, Cutler wanted to plunder her corrupted lips once again. Cutler drew her back for another taste. Desire had bled his eyes to black and he brushed his lips against hers. He continued to kiss her lips, softly tasting them with his tongue. His kisses grew more urgent, more insistent, and he was delighted that she returned them brazenly. He crushed Claire against his chest and his fingers twisted painfully in her hair. She mewed in a cross between pleasure and pain, but pressed forward instead of attempting to retreat.

Then, just as suddenly as he pulled her into his arms again, Cutler pushed her away, panting hard. His voice was ragged as he whispered, "I think it is time that I take you home." He was seconds away from lifting her skirts and rutting with her like some wild animal.

"But… we have not… what?" Claire was nothing if not confused. What kind of game was this man playing?

He allowed himself a moment to appraise Claire. Her lips were swollen and red from kissing. Her eyes were black with desire and her hair was in disarray. Yes, stopping was the only course of action at that moment. Pressing his lips together, Cutler rose from the boulder and held out his hand in an offer to help Claire rise. "Come. Make yourself look presentable and we shall retire back to your home."


	6. Chapter 6

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

Her horse tore across the ground that ran parallel to the Thames, its hooves eating up the miles, clods of dirt kicked out behind. Claire held on tight, the reins cutting into her palms and her fingers buried in the horse's mane, feeling like nothing more than a burr attached to Centaur's coat. The wind dug at her hair and caused her eyes to tear, completely obliterating Claire's vision until she was not sure where they were headed. It had been entirely too long since she had put her horse through its paces, but once her family had relocated to London, Claire's mother insisted that their groomsman was completely capable of seeing to all of the horse's needs. 

Her horse, apparently, felt otherwise.

When Cutler had knocked on her front door, Claire was surprised to see him. When they had parted ways the week before, very few words were spoken and nothing had been mentioned on the doorstep of another encounter. But since he had talked about a ride before all of the… ardor occurred, Claire decided to dress for an afternoon out and about, but expected nothing to come of it. In fact, she had been involved in helping her dressing maid cut down a dress for the maid's daughter when Cutler rapped on the front door. But Claire descended the stairs and welcomed Cutler, despite her confusion, then ushered him to the carriage house where her horse was quickly saddled.

Once Claire had arranged her skirts and settled into the sidesaddle so that she was as comfortable as she was going to get, it took all her strength to keep the horse from taking flight. Cutler had sat rigid and proud beside her as they rode through the streets of London, nodding to every person they came into contact with – much like a politician greeting a crowd. Claire tried her best to squelch the smirk that kept threatening to curve her lips. It was obvious that he enjoyed being the center of attention.

The couple only let the animals pick their own pace once they were past the heavy populous of city. Their heads free, the horses began to lope.

Then canter.

Then run.

Well, Cutler was getting the race that he had wanted. But there was no real contest as Claire's horse pulled further and further ahead of Cutler and his horse. Afraid that too much galloping after so long an absence might hurt Centaur's wind, Claire reigned her horse down to a slow walk and as she waited for Cutler to catch up, attempted to smooth her hair back into place – although she knew that it was nearly a lost cause. Her riding hat did not budge in the least, but Claire knew she must look a fright with her hair all askew. But rather than fret over appearances, she reveled in the freedom riding afforded her – and silently reminded herself to thank Cutler for the idea.

As scandalous an idea as it was.

Claire could not have hoped for a better day to ride. The day was glorious – warm and with just a hint of cloud in the sky – and Claire found that she was enjoying herself immensely. A warm wind caressed her skin and took the chill out of her cooling skin. It was the type of day that reminded Claire of her childhood. When lying down in a field to stare up at the clouds and feel the warm touch of the sun was still acceptable. When chasing after butterflies still elicited screams of pleasure and stomping through the waters of a creek was an amusing pastime.

Refusing to allow the melancholy threatening to surface have its way with her, Claire turned her horse around and was pleased to see Cutler making his way over to her side. And instead of seeing irritation marring his features, Claire was relieved that he looked more than amused – he was beaming as his horse closed the distance between them.

In fact, Cutler was actually laughing as he reigned in his stallion next to Claire's horse. Claire felt her cheeks color in pleasure when she saw the mirth dancing across his features; she had been worried that he would be angry that her horse outran his. Cutler ran so hot and cold that it was difficult to tell what might set him off on a path of anger or bemusement. She let out the breath did not know she had been holding in.

"Well done! You certainly have an amazing piece of horseflesh on your hands there, Claire. Why, Centaur does not even look winded – nor do you. But both Valiant and I are feeling every bit of our age after that race. If you call being outclassed and outrun a race. If you ever decide to part with your horse, let me be first in line to make an offer."

Claire was pleased to see that Cutler decided to forgo the pretense of the powdered wig and instead pulled his chestnut tresses back into a queue. It made him look younger… more approachable. A few tendrils had pulled loose and curled fetchingly around his cheeks, framing his face. Claire had to curl her fingers into her palm to resist the urge to brush Cutler's hair behind his ears. Instead, she clucked her horse forward into a walk, then tossed a smile over her shoulder.

Claire looked down at her hands and smiled before replying, "Please, do not hold your breath waiting, for it appears that every breath you take in is more precious than gold. Centaur and I will not part ways willingly, but I thank you for your interest. He is a fine animal indeed. I know I am very lucky." She looked up and there was mischief in her eyes despite the straight face she wore.

Cutler did not respond but Claire could see out of the corner of her eye that he was struggling to keep from laughing aloud. It was unspoken, but it seemed to be understood that they would let the horses wander as they liked. Both were silent as they meandered their way along the riverbank. They passed very few people this far out of the city proper. A few men fishing. A family attempting to fly a kite. A few other people riding as Claire and Cutler were.

More than a little apprehensive about spending another unchaperoned afternoon with Cutler, Claire found herself reminded on her childhood as the two of them would explore the countryside, is search of adventure or quiet… depending on their mood. Cutler and Claire very seldom interacted without the benefit of William, and now, as it was then, Claire felt like something was missing.

"Shall we lunch?"

The words came out of nowhere and startled Claire out of her thoughts. Of course he would want to eat – that was the purpose of which Cutler asked her to spend the afternoon. But food meant that they would slide from the saddles and have no buffers between them. And no buffers meant…

_I cannot allow what happened last week to repeat today. Although I am still unsure of what exactly happened. It seemed that I lost all my sensibilities. I let him take such liberties, but then, they felt so good. I thought he agreed, but then he pushed me away. With no explanation._

The same thoughts had swirled through Claire's head all week long. Even now, with Cutler before her, no obvious answer seemed to materialize.

The ride home last week had been quiet and uneventful – a far cry from the near-rapture Claire had experienced that afternoon. She was too embarrassed to bring it up at the time and Cutler seemed to be perfectly oblivious to what had transpired. In fact, Claire had wondered if Cutler was angry with her for allowing such liberties to be taken against her person, even though her was the perpetrator. But when he dropped her off at her parents' doorstep, he kissed the back of her hand and told her that he would see her next week.

Claire was still surprised that he actually showed up as promised because she thought she had disappointed him in some way.

Cutler could see the hesitation dancing over Claire's features and felt his chest tighten in excitement. It meant that she was thinking about the kisses they had shared last week. Kisses that he planned on resuming – in earnest – as dessert. But her response took Cutler by surprise.

The idea of having nothing between their bodies but air caused Claire more anxiety than she cared to admit, so she needed to buy time to gather her wits and opted to be pragmatic – even if it caused Cutler to no longer be interested in her. "Soon. We shall eat soon. But first, let us walk the horses cool first. It would not do for either of us to lose our treasured companions because our bellies could not stay empty just a little bit longer."

Cutler silently appraised the woman, finding her to be a true enigma. Certainly sheltered and innocent, there was a practicality about her that made Cutler wonder how much of her lack of knowledge was an act and how much of it was real. But he knew he was thinking with his wrong head and had forgotten about the lather the horses had worked up running. Instead, he was thinking about working up a lather of a different kind.

Nodding his head in agreement, Cutler chuckled. "I always knew you were the smartest out of the three of us, but why is it that I always feel my intelligence drop when I am around you? Of course the horses should be walked cool. It shall also give us a chance to talk."

Claire furrowed her brow in puzzlement. Talking was the last thing on his mind last week. Maybe he was wanting to explain what had transpired. Although she was not looking forward to such a conversation, it would be easier to talk about such matters on horseback than on the ground. "Talk? Do you have a topic in particular?" She held her breath as she waited for his response.

The chuckle that rumbled out of his chest was not what Claire expected. Neither was his response. "No. Not really. But is that not what people do? Talk about nothing in particular? I find that to be the case with most people I come across."

Feeling like the wind got knocked out of her, Claire hope that her disappointment did not show on her features. If he was going to play this game, then so was she… "And after all this time, all these years, there is nothing left for us to talk about… except for nothing in particular?" She hoped that she sounded more coquettish than petulant.

Cutler responded by throwing his head back and laughing. "Well said! However, I must admit that as the years have passed, the less I admit to knowing very much about you. Claire, you were still a child when I left for London. I can tell you that you are a child no longer."

The tone of his voice changed. No longer was he carefree and lighthearted, but there was a cadence of appreciation that made Claire uncomfortable. Goosebumps dotted Claire's arms and a shiver danced along her spine. She wanted nothing more than to rub her hands up and down her arms, but, instead, she tried to be coy. "Cutler, it is not I who is any different than when we children – it is you, with your new life in the East India Trading Company. And a title! My goodness, I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you are a Lord now. I… I am still just the annoying younger sister of your best friend."

"There is nothing annoying about you. Nor do you remind me in any way of being a younger sister to anyone. The woman I see before me is unlike anyone I ever crossed paths with. You are a stranger. One I would like to get to know… very well." His smile was lopsided – and dangerous.

Stunned Claire sat up straighter in her saddle and swallowed hard. Again, she was well out of her league against Cutler. There was a worldliness to him that was severely lacking in Claire. If coy would not work, she would feign self-assurance…

"Cutler, may I cut the pretense and be frank with you?"

It took a moment for her question to register, for Cutler wanted nothing more than to pull Claire from her horse and drag her to the ground beneath him. Her attempt to project poise was especially endearing, but more so was the fact that he knew the topic she wanted to address. He had intentionally cut her off last week – physically and emotionally. Cutler figured that she was hurt and confused… and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her. But not just yet. "I had hoped that after all these years, there would be nothing but frankness between the two of us."

The muck was getting thick and Claire had to squelch the urge to sigh in vexation, so instead she closed her eyes so Cutler would not see her eyes roll. Why did a man who proclaimed honesty above all else play such wicked games? Squaring her shoulders back, Claire turned in the saddle and looked at Cutler with such brutal openness that he leaned back slightly.

"Cutler, you have known me since before I could walk. I have seen with my two eyes that there is no shortage of women in your life. I have heard from the friends that you are a highly sought after man. I must ask, is this some kind of joke? Why me?" There. That was about as direct as she could get without asking about his sudden retreat last week.

A brow arched and Cutler bobbed his head, mulling over Claire's words. He then reached over and grabbed Claire's reins out of hr hands, stilling the animal, and slid from his horse. Ducking under Centaur's neck, Cutler looked up at Claire. Surprise colored her features, causing Cutler to smile. He had to ball his hands into fists to keep Claire on her horse. _Soon…_

"Why you? Because out of all the women I know, I find you to be the most agreeable. I make no promises of undying love, but I do promise to treat you well. We all have faults, and you will find that I have many, but once I dedicate myself to something – or someone – you can know that nothing will dissuade me from my task. However, I make you no promises as of yet for anything other than to make our time together most pleasing. I hope that I have succeeded. Please tell me if I have not."

"Cutler…" Claire sighed, knowing it was completely unladylike and not caring in the least. She tried again. "Cutler, you know that I enjoyed our time together last week. More than I should have. I lost my head and allowed you… indiscretions that I have should not. But I thought you had found your head and yet your seemed so distant. Did I… Did I do something wrong?"

The tone of her question reminded Cutler that while Claire did indeed look every part a woman, she was still an underlying girl at heart. A benevolent smile shone up at her. "Claire, you did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. Too right. I had to cut myself off from you lest I put you in an even more compromising situation. Now, the horses are cool and this looks are good a place as any to picnic. What say you?"

Claire looked around and saw that they were stopped near a graceful bend in the river by a small grove of trees. Branches arched gracefully over the water, creating a natural canopy above Claire and Cutler. The ground was grassy and flat, perfect to set a blanket upon, and the terrain smooth and free of rock. In fact, Claire could not help but think that they could not have happened upon a more appropriate spot to picnic. It was picturesque. It was romantic.

It was isolated and secluded. Perfect for hiding illicit delights.

Mutely, she nodded her head and allowed Cutler to slip his hands around her waist, helping her from the saddle. Instead of sliding her along the length of his body as she figured, Claire was actually disappointed that he behaved like a complete gentleman.

Once she was firmly standing on the ground, Cutler lead the horses to the nearby grove of trees, tethering them so they could graze. Claire watched as Cutler removed the picnic blanket, rolled up like a bedroll and tied behind his saddle. With a loud snap, he unfurled the blanket and it gracefully drifted to the ground. Silently, Cutler indicated for Claire to sit, which she did, arranging her skirt about her much longer than necessary. Nervous, Claire needed something to keep her hands occupied, so she smoothed and worried the fabric of her riding habit.

Cutler then brought over the picnic hamper. With exaggerated movements that ended in flourishes, the items in the hamper were removed and set in a semi-circle around Claire. Carefully wrapped in brown paper were finger foods perfect for Dried meats. Hard cheeses. Small loaves of bread. Various fruits.

Then came plates and drinking glasses, also carefully wrapped.

It was obvious that Cutler put much thought into the picnic, more than Claire would have given him credit for. She knew he valued appearance so Claire was not surprised that he arranged all the items with precision on the dishes. But when she reached for an empty plate to fill, Cutler withdrew it out of her reach, a mischievous smile curving his lips. Perplexed, Claire cocked her head and furrowed her brow, waiting for an explanation.

She did not have long to wait.

"Let me feed you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

"I… I can feed myself," Claire stammered, not at all sure of what was going on. But if it involved Cutler, Claire knew it would be something decadent… and highly inappropriate. Wanting nothing more than to rise and remount her horse, fleeing from Cutler and his intoxicating offers, Claire forced herself to fight the rising panic she felt and stay seated on the blanket. It had to just be an act of kindness… and nothing more. 

Or did it?

"Ah, but of course you can. However, I would take such great pleasure in helping you with that particular task," Cutler purred.

The husky tone of his voice skated across Claire's skin whispering heady dark promises. The emphasis he put on the word pleasure made shivers dance across along her spine. Instead of rubbing her arms to erase the goosebumps peppering her skin, Claire broke eye contact and began to worry the stitching of her jacket cuffs.

"If… I…" Claire knew not how to respond and hated herself for stammering. She was perfectly capable of feeding herself, but the thought of what Cutler had in mind was so intriguing – and exhilarating. She tried again. "I think I would like that." There. That was a better attempt. Her voice sounded clearer. Claire even made eye contact.

Cutler smiled, his satisfaction pouring off his body in waves. With a lift of his brow and a teasing smile, he reduced Claire to feeling like a small child. She was no good at dancing these steps and yet… _And yet you are unwilling to step off the dance floor._

"Come, let us get more comfortable. No sense in trying to enjoy ourselves when we are so uncomfortably restrained." With practiced fingers, Cutler removed his coat and carefully folded it, setting it aside. Claire was afraid that he would undress further, but was grateful that he folded his hands in his lap, an expectant look painting his features.

Finally realizing that Cutler was waiting for her to remove her jacket also, Claire slowly unfastened the buttons marching down the front of her riding outfit, then shrugged off the garment. She then removed her riding hat, and ran her fingers through her mussed hair in an attempt to smooth it into place. Mimicking Cutler's actions, she set aside her jacket and waited for Cutler to react.

Taking a moment to appraise Claire, Cutler was pleased that he was able to coerce her into doing what he wished – without uttering a word. Her actions, done without verbal direction, gave Claire the false confidence that what she did was under free will… when in fact Cutler knew that Claire would have remained fully dressed even after he had removed his coat. It was all about the body language. It spoke volumes over anything he could have actually spoken.

Then there was the pleasure of watching Claire remove her jacket… As her torso twisted and turned, her breasts strained against the fabric of her blouse. Her skirt was high-waisted, emphasizing the narrowness of her figure, but also enhancing the curve of her bust. She was pleasing to look at, there was no disputing that. But coupled with her innocence, Claire was a marvel. Cutler could tell that she was desperately trying to keep up with him, but it was not her eagerness that he found endearing; rather it was her naïveté that made his heart race.

"Hungry?"

The way that he asked – the tone of his voice, the cadence of his speech – made Claire wonder if he was asking about the meal before them… or something else entirely.

Once the question hung in the air, Claire felt hunger pangs stab at her insides. She slowly nodded her head. But while her stomach was making its presence known with small rumblings, if Cutler wanted to resume the activities of last week, Claire was willing. However, Claire was afraid to say anything, figuring that food first, pleasure second. As her mother always said, never get between a man and his food.

Indeed, he picked up the food-laden plate and set it between them. Cutler paused a moment and then deliberately, methodically, ruminated over which morsel to choose. His lips were pursed, as if deep in thought, and his fingers hovered just above the victuals. Then, suddenly, he plucked a biscuit and broke it into bite-size pieces. His lips curved into a smirk as he leaned forward to present the morsel.

Claire giggled as Cutler held out a piece of bread between his fingers, who silently encouraged her to lean forward also and eat the food. When she took too long, he bestowed her with a withering look, causing Claire to quickly bob her lips over the bread and neatly removed it from his fingers, doing her best to keep her lips from touching his skin. A warm blush tinged her cheeks and Claire pressed her lips together in order to hide an embarrassed smile that threatened to appear.

Cutler immediately choose another item, this time a bit of dried meat, but as Claire advanced to take the food, so did Cutler's fingers – slightly. As her lips closed around the larder, Claire's eyes opened in surprise when she found Cutler's fingertips firmly entrenched just minutely inside her mouth.

Cutler's eyes half-closed in pleasure as Claire's tongue accidentally swept against his fingertips. Pleasure radiated down the length of his hands and arms, rumbling through his torso before landing at the juncture of his thighs. It took all of his will power not to growl aloud. It was even more arousing to have her accidentally lick his fingertips than if she had done it on purpose.

Knowing that he had to extract his fingers, for Claire would not move for fear of doing something wrong, Cutler ever so slowly released the meat and withdrew his digits in a leisurely manor, so as to fully enjoy the sensation of the movement. His eyelids fluttered as another appendage enjoyed the sensation also. Needing space between them lest he say or do something to jeopardize the tenuous control he had over his desire, Cutler leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows, not caring if his arousal was evident.

But an awkward moment arrived and it was soon obvious that Cutler expected to be fed, too. Claire was beside herself at the realization. _Bugger, I have to feed him, too!_

Claire picked up a small piece of meat and once Cutler pushed himself upright again, tentatively held a piece of meat before his lips. Cutler paused, holding his breath, making sure that Claire had committed to feeding him in return, before opening his mouth. Cutler knew he surprised her when he not only took the meat, but also her fingertips, inside his mouth. Locking gazes with Claire, he could tell that she was shocked, but also pleased. He could see her chest rise and fall as Claire gasped in fear… and excitement.

He knew that Claire would not remove her fingers under her own volition. It was just a matter of deciding whether he would open his mouth or drag his lips along the length of her tapered fingers.

Cutler opted for the latter.

Locking eyes with Claire, Cutler allowed his tongue to pry her fingers apart and deftly swallowed the bit of meat. The contraction of his throat reverberated into Cutler's mouth and the wave of motion sent chills down Claire's arm. Cutler added to the sensation by drawing his lips slowly, achingly so, across the sensitive skin of her fingertips, finally releasing them with an audible pop.

Trying not to pant in fear... in need... Claire blinked first, breaking eye contact and dropping her gaze to the blanket they sat upon. Why on earth did she think that there would be anything remotely innocent about their outing when she dressed that morning? A random thought drifted through her head that Cutler was rather like a cat… a worthy predator who wanted nothing but pleasure.

"Your turn… again."

Claire watched as Cutler plucked a strawberry from the plate and held it before her lips. Instead of letting Cutler slip the berry past her lips, she decided to bite it neatly from its stem. Biting into the berry, Claire maintained eye contact with Cutler the whole time. She could feel juice beading on her lower lip and her tongue darted out, gently lapping at the liquid. She saw Cutler swallow hard and wanted to smile. Claire was unsure of why she was causing a reaction in him, but saw the reaction nonetheless. She felt a surge of power go through her.

Suddenly a wicked smile curved her lips and Claire rolled forward, kneeling before Cutler, returning the favor. Holding a blackberry before Cutler, Claire smiled shyly as she brushed the berry against his lips. She then caressed the fruit along his jawline before dancing it along his cheekbones. Wishing that she had enough nerve to touch him with her fingertips rather than using the food, Claire was pleased that Cutler's eyes closed in apparent bliss.

But he did revel in the sensation for very long, as Cutler opened his eyes and grabbed her wrist. He would never tell her, but he had to stop her movements lest he pull the fruit from her fingers and suggest another place for him to touch. Instead, Cutler nipped at the food, watching the reactions on Claire's features before opening his mouth and closing it around her fingertips. He groaned in appreciation as he swallowed the bite.

A bit of juice collected in the corner of Cutler's mouth. Wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss away the bit of liquid, Claire instead picked up a napkin and dabbed at Cutler's mouth. A brow arched in amusement, but Cutler kept his peace. It was enough that Claire initiated physical contact between the two of them, even if it was not her lips against his skin. _Patience. Soon._

"I would like a strawberry now, if you would."

Nodding her head, Claire's fingers skimmed over the plate, reaching blindly, until she found the type of fruit Cutler requested. For once, she wanted to look away and found she could not. Their lips were only inches apart, each breathing in the other person's breath, and yet neither leaned in to finish the kiss. Cutler was afraid that he would frighten Claire and Claire was concerned that Cutler would think her too bold.

So Claire opted for what she thought was the safest solution and held the strawberry before Cutler, her throat in constant motion as she repeatedly swallowed in anxiety. Now that she understood that food was replacing kisses in building tension, she was a bundle of nerves. Kissing was overwhelming, but this dance of seduction using food to act out their desires made Claire confused. But did nothing to dampen the desire.

A smile curved Cutler's lips for a moment before he opened his mouth and flicked the fruit gently with his tongue. His lips then encircled the fruit and he neatly bit it free from the stem. Claire did not understand why, but felt herself swallow hard as she watched him consume the berry with such relish.

In fact, Claire felt a heat radiating from between her legs that seemed to pulsate each time Cutler's fingertips danced across her lips and each time her fingers skimmed along his. She wanted to beg him to touch her elsewhere, but she found she lacked the ability to speak. Her skin was on fire with want… need. She could feel her nipples tighten and press against her corset. _So this is what he had in mind._

"I think it is time for me to pack this all up." He then turned away from Claire, his shoulder brushing against her chest, and began to gather up their dirty plates. His ability to maintain any sort of control was rapidly evaporating and Cutler knew it would not do if either of them ended up reclining in any way with dishes and whatnot all around. So the remaining food was wrapped back up in their napkin coverings. Then all was efficiently packed back into the hamper. Taking a deep breath, Cutler then returned his attention towards Claire.

Claire had watched silently as blanket was cleared. She did not want to think that she did something wrong, for Claire thought she did everything Cutler asked. There was still more food to eat and wine to drink. So it had to be that he had another engagement later. "Is it… is it time to go?" There. Her voice sounded curious rather than concerned.

"On the contrary. I just want to make some more room." His voice brushed against her skin like fur. She was unable to hide the shudder that ran up and down her spine.

More room? Claire cocked her head and asked, "For what?"

"For this…" Cutler reached for Claire and she willingly went into his embrace, not even contemplating the repercussions for the combined effects of the feeding and the wine made Claire want nothing more to feel Cutler pressed against her body.

Cutler kissed her deeply, drowning in the taste of berries on Claire's lips. He opened his mouth and their tongues met, tangling in the moist darkness. His hand slid from Claire's lower back and crept forwards and upwards until he was cupping the gentle curve of her breast. Expecting protest but getting a mew of desire instead, Cutler allowed his thumb to gently caress her hardened nipple.

His other hand drew her even closer until she was nearly on his lap. His pants felt like they were tight to the point of bursting and Cutler wanted nothing more than to flip Claire on her back, her skirts hiked to her waist.

As they kissed, Cutler's hands roamed, eliciting squeals from Claire as he touched her breasts, lightly twisting her nipples through the fabric. Suddenly, Claire wanted to be rid of her clothes – she wanted Cutler out of his clothes – but knew not why. She gasped as he began to unbutton her blouse, the sun warming the exposed skin.

Her hands danced along the waistband of his pants, wanting nothing more than to remove the bottom of his shirt from the prison of his trousers and run her fingers through the hair covering his belly. The thought shocked Claire, who had no idea if Cutler had hair foresting his stomach and why she would want to touch it, but in a moment of passion, she balled the fabric in her hands and tugged the shirt free.

As soon as her cool fingers slipped under his shirt, he was done for. "I want you." Cutler growled, his fingers threading their way through Claire's tresses. Wanting nothing more than to grind his groin against Claire's, he half encouraged, half pushed her so that she was laying flat on her back.

Breaking the kiss, Claire looked at Cutler, braced above her, for several long moments. He instantly stilled, afraid that he had gone too far. Confusion then wrinkled her brow and she asked, "To do what?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

"Claire, we need to talk!"

Claire looked up from her book, startled by the loud bang of her door being thrown open, then bouncing off the wall, followed by the booming sound of her brother's voice. She had been tucked into a chair in the corner of her bedroom, whiling away the rainy afternoon by getting lost in a good read. When she realized who her visitor was, the book was set aside and Claire launched from her seat to embrace her sibling.

A smile curved her lips as she closed the distance between them. "William! I did not realize that we were to be expecting you. Mother and Father did not tell me. I am sorry that I am not better dressed for the occasion." She held her arms out to envelope him into a hug, but he stepped around her and stood in the middle of the room, arms folded across his chest, irritation radiating off his body.

Claire took an involuntary step backwards, unsure of what caused William's ire. This was not the William she knew and loved. The man before her was a stranger. And a very angry one at that.

He unfolded his arms and then clenched and unclenched his hands several times. Then a hand arced upwards and fingers raked through his hair. "Mother and Father were not expecting me. I am here for one reason and one reason only – to find out what is going on with you and Cutler!" He spat out the last words like they were poison.

Claire's eyes widened in surprise and… fear. She had never seen her brother so angry. She sank onto her bed, unsure if her legs would support her any longer. Claire knew full well that her brother had a temper, but he was always able to keep a tight rein on it. And he had never directed it at her.

Until now.

Unsure of how to respond, Claire whispered, "What on earth are you talking about?"

William looked away from his sister and shook his head. An incredulous chuckle, completely devoid of humor, burst past his lips. He knew his sister lead a sheltered life, but if she had spent any time alone with Cutler, her innocence was a little tarnished, if not a lot. "Unchaperoned afternoons, Claire? What were you thinking? I certainly know what Cutler was thinking – and what he was thinking with! Mother and Father may have lost their minds and let you go off without anyone to keep an eye on either of you, but I have not! I know Cutler better than anyone and I know what he is capable of! Has he tried to put you into a compromising situation? Anything to harm your reputation?"

"I… I do not know what you are talking about." Even Claire knew that her words lacked conviction. She knew that her brother was able to see right through her affected naïveté. Claire wanted to laugh – or weep – for the times, not so long ago, when she would indeed not know what William was talking about. Because while Cutler was exciting and gave her much pleasure, it seemed that there were prices to pay for the knowledge she gained.

William sank to his knees before her and cupped her chin roughly, forcing Claire to look at him. "Has he tried to kiss you?"

His hold on her was strong and his fingernails bit into her jawbone. She was about to tell William to let go, but knew that would make him angrier. Better to answer his question than to bait him. "Yes." The word was hushed, as if she were ashamed. _Am I?_

Looking pained, William pressed on. "Did he succeed?"

Claire closed her eyes, unable to bear seeing the accusation burning in William's eyes. How was it that kissing was so wrong? _But did you think like that until you were kissed?_ Her words were barely a whisper. "Yes."

The single word launched William to his feet and he stomped back and forth across the room several times before stopping, once again, before his sister. "Bloody hell, Claire! And if he kissed you, I know it was not in a brotherly fashion. Has he tried anything else?"

"Like what?"

William tore about the room, pulling at his hair. "Like what, she asks," he said to himself.

He then turned, defeat rolling his shoulders forward, and he sat down on the bed next to Claire. Taking her hand between his, William said, "Claire, his motives are not pure. His intentions might be that he does want to marry you at some point. But you are not the first woman he has dangled marriage in front of and – if my suspicions are correct – you will not be the last."

His words stung, far more than Claire was willing to admit. It was not as if she felt a great deal of affection towards Cutler, for she felt that this new side of Cutler kept him a stranger to her, but to allow him such liberties against her person when he was showing false interest… Claire hung her head, partly in shame and partly in disbelief. Her words came out mumbled. "How can you say that about your best friend?"

One hand slipped from Claire's lap and William's arm draped across her shoulders. "Until it was my little baby sister he dallied with, I looked away. I mean, God's teeth, he should be thinking of you as a little sister, too! He watched you grow up. Cutler should see you as a child, like I still do. Not as a woman…"

Claire felt her cheeks go hot as William's voice trailed off. At a complete loss of words, Claire basked in the love her brother showed her. Leaning into his embrace, she rested her head on his shoulder and knew that this might be the last moment they would ever share when William would act like an older brother. Once he was married, the indignation that welled up in William would be saved for one woman and one woman only. Claire wrapped his protectiveness around her like a warm blanket.

When she finally regained her voice, she asked, "So what is it that you want me to do? Turn him away? If so, I fear that you will need to help me come up with a plausible reason that will not ruin my chances for another suitor. While I begrudge you nothing, having my debut Season pushed back until after your wedding could hurt my chances in finding a potential husband. All of my friends either vied for your or his attentions. I would be crazy to cast him aside without just cause. If he is not being forthright with me, what can I do? He is your best friend – can you not talk to him?"

Pulling her tight against his shoulder in an effort to offer the comfort that he could not express, William shook his head in the negative. "I have tried, but all I get out of Cutler is that he can give you everything your heart desires. But at no time did he ever mention marriage."

Claire's stomach suddenly lurched and she felt like she had been punched in the chest. "Well, neither have we. I just… presumed that his courting was intended for a particular purpose. I… I feel like a fool."

His hand left her should and mussed Claire's tresses. "Nay, you should not. It may be that Cutler's intentions are solid. I just want you to be wary and not allow yourself to be overtaken by childish notions of love."

"But you love Suzanna…" Claire knew that she sounded petulant and childish, but did not care. She was not in love with Cutler, but she hoped to be some day. Was that not what every woman hoped for?

William's smile was kind, indulgent even. Claire could tell that the thought of his fiancée made her brother feel warm on the inside. Especially when he tried to be stern when he explained, "I do. You are right. But I did not enter into a courtship with her because I fancied her. Yes, I found her looks to be pleasing, but it was her family's connections and resources that I thought would compliment what I could bring to a potential marriage. But only after getting to know her was I able to fall in love with her."

Claire was quiet as she mulled over her brother's words. She nodded her head in acknowledgement, but somehow felt an inane sense of loss. She wanted Cutler to want to spend the rest of his life with her.

Taking Claire's silence as brooding, William gently asked, "Do you love him?"

Claire looked up at her brother and blinked several times, as if waking up from a nap. "Do I what?"

"Love him?"

Her brow furrowing and her lips turning to a grimace, Claire scoffed. "William, I think of Cutler in nearly the same manner I think of you. As a child, I hero-worshipped the two of you. But if he can offer me stability, children and a high-ranking position in society, who am I to turn him away?"

William looked at his sister and warned, "If you warm his sheets, there will be no marriage. He will drop you like a hot potato. Once he gets what he wants – and I know for a fact that he would love to lift your skirts – the chase will be over and you will be yesterday's news. And once you are ruined, no decent man will have you. Heed my words Claire, keep your legs together until your wedding night."

Not wishing to speak about such matters with her brother, Claire was unable to look in his eyes. But she did focus on his hands, hoping to gather her courage. He had opened the door to questions she wanted answered and although she would rather speak of such matters with someone else, there was no one else she trusted. "I will. I promise. But William… I could never ask Mother or Father this, so may I ask you a question?"

"Anything," he said, instantly regretting the open invitation.

"I will wait until my wedding night, but why is it that men do not have to follow such rules? In fact, it seems to be encouraged for men to sow their wild oats – prior to marriage and beyond."

William felt a headache forming behind his eyes. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having, but to dismiss her outright would only make her seek out answers elsewhere. He needed to buy some time – although the idea of resuming the conversation at a later date was not at all appealing. But better from him than Cutler… "Ah, fair Claire, the question that haunts every woman, I am sure. That… and why it is acceptable for men to cat around while women are expected to remain at home, taking care of the children, waiting chastely for their husbands to return." William sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once again.

Claire blinked, waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she braved making eye contact and asking, "Is there an answer?"

Sighing, he replied, "Nothing that has a substantial explanation, I am sure. It is just an injustice of being born a woman, I suppose. But these are not things I should be talking about with you." William looked highly uncomfortable and rubbed his face several times before rising from the bed.

Claire reached out and grasped her brother's hand, stilling his pacing. "Why not? And if you will not tell me, who will?"

"Claire, I know not what to say off the top of my head. What you are asking me to explain is a very delicate topic and I am not entirely comfortable talking about it with my baby sister. Now, I promise to give this some thought and resume this conversation at another time, but may we speak about something else in the interim?" Looking rueful, William squatted before Claire and squeezed her hands.

Slightly disappointed, Claire thought hard about something else to speak of. Not particularly relishing the answer, she nonetheless asked, "So are you mad at me about seeing Cutler?" Her words came out hushed and she hunched her shoulders in the anticipated tongue-lashing.

Instead, her brother laughed. "No, but I am mad at Cutler for not speaking with me about it first. I saw the look in your eyes at the party – I knew you were trying to tell me that you did not know until that moment. I turned away in vexation not because you were keeping a secret until that moment, but because Cutler was. Parading you in front of everyone with me being the last to know. I was beyond angry."

"Oh William, I am so sorry." Guilt washed over her like an incoming tide.

Rubbing his thumb across the wrinkle between Claire's brows, William quietly regarded his sister. Finally coming into her own, she held a quiet beauty and grace that knocked the breath out of someone when they finally noticed it. If Cutler cast her aside without any damage to her reputation, there would be plenty of other suitors to take up where he left off. "Nothing to be sorry about, Claire, so stop frowning. If Mother were to catch you, you know there would be repercussions, right? Now, I am having lunch with a friend of mine today and, hopefully, I can get us to relocate to the tavern that Cutler likes to frequent and hope that a pint or two of ale will get me some answers."

"Please do not tell him I said anything!" Panic laced her words and Claire stood, ready to tackle her brother and pin him to the floor until he promised.

As he stood in the doorway to her bedroom, Claire had to admit that her brother cut a dashing image as he braced his arm above his head. An amused grin showed white teeth and his blond hair gleamed in the lamplight. Until that moment, Claire did not understand her friend's fascination with William's looks. Then, seeing him in a new light, Claire felt almost dowdy in his presence.

It was only the warm, coaxing sound of his voice that put her at ease. "Relax fair Claire, I shall only ask what his intentions are. You, your feelings, and your words will not be mentioned. I shall send an invitation for dinner some night this week so I can let you know what I find out… and to also discuss your earlier questions about men and women. I just think I need a glass of port before talking about such things with my baby sister."

Claire smiled shyly and ducked her head. "Thank you for your concern."

William crossed the room in easy strides and cupped his sister's chin once again. "Claire, as your big brother, it is my duty to watch out for you. Soon as I know something – anything – expect that dinner invitation. Until then, put Cutler off if he asks to see you."

Then, with a swirl of his cloak, his was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

"Beckett, you old dog! How are you?"

The greeting carried over the hum of noise, causing Cutler to set down his mug of ale and turn away from the bar and see who was calling to him. His heart sank when he saw his best friend William pushing his way through the crowd. William paused to murmur an amusing antidote into a fellow patron's ear from time to time and reached through the bodies to shake the occasional hand.

It was almost as if it was the prodigal son had come home.

No one ever did that for Cutler.

Cutler frequented the tavern often, enjoying the cheap drinks, low lighting and proximity to his office. Of course, the working girls that hugged the bar and the stairs leading up to their rooms were of a higher caliber normally reserved for the pricier brothels. And were generally very attentive to Cutler's needs.

When he was finally deposited in front of Cutler, after swimming through a sea of bodies, William embraced his friend. Cutler felt obligated to return the hug, although he did so halfheartedly. Truth be known, Cutler had been avoiding William ever since he had decided to call on Claire in an attempt to circumvent this exact moment. Cutler just knew that William had sought him out to ask about his intentions. And he was damned if he knew what he was going to say.

But Cutler was glad to see his friend and motioned him to join him against the bar. The few times they crossed paths recently, Cutler made a point of needing to be somewhere else. But still, William was his dearest friend and Cutler was glad to see him, even if his friend's tactics of chatting were less than… ideal. But he could not put the moment off forever. Motioning for the barkeep to come over, Cutler smirked and turned to face William. "William! Look at you! It has been too long. Let me buy you a drink…"

William arched a brow, knowing that his friend had been deliberately avoiding him. But maybe knowing that he was cornered rather than mad would cause Cutler to finally explain what was going on between him and his sister. "Cutler, you know I will never turn away a free round. But it is not I who has been keeping a low profile. I thought you were avoiding me." Once two ales were deposited in front of them, William picked up his mug and smiled at Cutler over the rim.

Looking every inch the innocent, Cutler opened his mouth in mock outrage before replying, "Avoiding you? Why would I want to do that? It seems that ever since you got engaged, you are a difficult man to track down."

Of course Cutler would turn it back on him. William resisted the urge to shake his head in disbelief and instead motioned them to a table that had just been vacated. As they walked over, William scoffed, "Why would you avoid me? So that we would not have the inevitable talk about my sister."

Cutler shrugged as he slid into a chair. "Then let us talk. You told me to settle down, did you not? And after mulling over your suggestion, I agree with you. But while you were lucky in finding someone as pleasing as Suzanna, I realized that the only woman I could foresee spending the rest of my life tolerating was Claire."

Tolerating Claire? Even if that was the case, when did Claire go from being the little girl whose pigtails they both pulled to a woman that was now a potential wife for his best friend? And while he would always think of his sister as a small child, William had to wonder why Cutler did not also. "So when she go from being the annoying little sister you never had to potential wife?"

A furrow appeared between Cutler's brows. "William, why the cross tone? Little Claire could certainly do worse than me!"

William eyed Cutler over the rim of his mug. "If you hurt my sister, I will do more than hurt you, Cutler. I will kill you." He the downed the ale in several long swallows.

Cutler felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had not been prepared for threats against his person, despite knowing William would feel very protective of Claire. And while he had no plans on ever hurting her, Cutler's plans of enjoying his time with Claire would probably not mesh with William's ideas of how their visits should play out. Cutler needed to placate Claire's older brother. "Now why on earth would I do anything to hurt Claire? I watched her grow up, the same as you, for goodness sakes! There was a time when I felt like she was the little sister I never had."

Motioning for another beer, William shook his head. Cutler feigning innocence was enough to turn William's stomach. And he was not about to let his friend off the hook. "I remember those days. What changed? Why is she no longer your little sister?"

"William, while I understand your concern, I guarantee that my intentions are completely genuine. I happen to think very highly of your sister, which is something I cannot say about most women I know. I do apologize for not asking your permission first, but as I was mulling your words over at the engagement party, I crossed paths with Claire. Seeing her was almost like having an epiphany."

William wanted to roll his eyes. While he genuinely liked and cared for the man sitting with him, the fact remained that the two of them had catted around many times before and William knew that Cutler liked to dangle before women the promise of matrimony. "I just happen to know that you have bestowed your charms on other unsuspecting young women before. You have left a trail of broken hearts behind you. My sister will not be one of them."

His hand arcing up to his chest in mock pain, Cutler fell against the chairback. "Ah William, you wound me! I happen to find your sister to be a perplexing enigma. Wise yet sheltered. Pleasing to the eye yet attainable–."

"Attainable?" William did not care that his tone was acid.

Cutler found himself getting very annoyed. He knew he was cornered and that there was no way he could leave without ending their friendship, but he was beginning to resent the fact that he had to defend his intent towards Claire. And while he had no idea if they would end up walking down the aisle themselves, Cutler had every intention of making sure the time he spent with Claire was pleasurable. "You know what I mean, so let your hackles lay flat. Her beauty is approachable. Better?

Taking a long drink of his fresh ale, William contemplated his friend. He was not immune to the fact that women found Cutler attractive. And as much as he hated it, William could admit that his sister was growing into being a striking woman. But what he could hate was the fact that the two people he grew up with, the two people he cared about the most, were gravitating towards one another.

"So you care for her?"

"William, you know that I consider you family. Your sister means almost as much to me as she does to you. But the truth of the matter is, she is of no blood relation to me. So my familiarity and affection with Claire has blossomed into an appreciation for the woman she is becoming. Like you, I have nothing but Claire's best interests at heart. Please tell me it would not be better to know her suitor than for him to be a perfect stranger." Cutler kept the tone of his voice light, when it took everything he had to keep sarcasm from lacing his words.

William leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his arms folded. "Cutler… It is just that I have seen the wake you have left behind in the past. Forgive me for being concerned. I mean not to misjudge you, but I would be remiss if I was not the protective older brother in this situation."

"And I expect nothing less. But Claire is unlike any other I have ever met and will be treated as such. I really have no idea what you are so concerned about. I happen to have great affection for your sister. You of all people should know that. And she has happened to grow into a beautiful woman. Would you rather not know the person who takes a shine to your sister than not?"

Unable to think of yet another argument, William nodded his head, as if in acceptance, and leaned back in his chair. Looking away from his drinking companion, he noticed a few men heading towards the back room.

When curiosity marred William's features, one of the men answered his unasked question. "They will be playing a game of Basset in the back room. Would either of you like to chance your luck with the cards?"

Turning to face Cutler, William shrugged his shoulders. "Would you like to try your hand?"

"Lead the way." Cutler motioned for William to walk before him.

Several hours later, William found himself pushing away from the table, his pockets empty and a signed IOU for more money than he possessed. Unsure of how the money ran through his fingers like water, he was equally unsure of how he was going to be able to cover his debt. If his parents ever found out, they would disown him. If Suzanna ever found out, she would leave him.

For all intents and purposes, his life was over. Especially if he did not repay the debt within the month. The man who held his IOU would not wave the balance due and if he could not be repaid in cash, he would be repaid in flesh.

William walked out into the night air unsure of how to gain back what he had just lost.


	10. Chapter 10

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

Claire suddenly realized that no one gave her enough credit.

Sitting bolt upright in her chair, she automatically set her teacup back on its saucer with a soft clink. No one – not her friends, not her family, not those in her employment – ever gave her enough credit. After all, letting slip something so monumental without thinking there would be repercussions, would only – could only – happen around someone the news bearer thought unworthy of recognition. After all, dropping such news about her brother in her lap and not thinking that Claire would be, at the very least, shocked was a great disservice against her.

And she suddenly felt herself harden against all those around her.

Letting the silly girls prattle on around her, Claire carefully mulled over what Rebecca let slip… William was so far in debt that if Suzanna found out, she would leave him.

Claire closed her eyes in disbelief. He apparently parted with the small fortune rather recently, so that was the only good thing to come out of the situation. Time was on their side. But when was that? Factoring in what little she knew of William's schedule of late, Claire had to presume it was the other night when he promised to meet up with Cutler. Oh, how could Cutler let the situation spiral so out of control?

Pasting on a serene smile, Claire quickly thought about methods of raising money to help cover the debt. Ideas came to her and were quickly discarded. Frustration made her skin crawl until she was ready to claw at her own flesh. But then inspiration struck her and serenity settled on her shoulders like a mantle.

She came up with the perfect answer.

While it would not be enough to cover the debt, selling Centaur to Cutler would help reduce the amount significantly. Cutler was not the first person to show interest in the horse, so Claire knew the value of the steed. And while Claire felt her stomach heave at the thought of losing her beloved horse, the thought of eventually becoming Missus Cutler Beckett soothed her aching heart. If everything worked out the way it should, the horse would be back in her possession within a year or two.

But what the Bloody Hell happened that would cause William to part with so much money? Money that he did not have! Where was his head? How far into the cups was he that night? Why did Cutler not stop William before he lost so much? Was Cutler even with him?

Nodding her head at the appropriate times and murmuring agreement when the conversation necessitated it, Claire realized that she needed to be away from her friends – if she still wanted to call them that – lest she scream at them all to shut their mouths. Why did it not dawn on a single one of them that what Rebecca let slip was painful and embarrassing? Could they not see the shock painting her features?

Feeling like a fish plucked from the water and gasping for breath, Claire needed to get out of the drawing room. She needed to take in giant lungfuls of fresh air. Never before did she feel so stifled and suffocated.

Begging off from the rest of the afternoon due to a headache, Claire did not care that the girls were all staring at her retreating figure all gape-mouthed. Her back was ramrod straight and her shoulders were set back proudly as she crossed the heavily carpeted floor and continued to the foyer without a backward glance. If they did not understand that what was said about William turned her world upside-down, then who needed them?

Realizing that her driver would not return for quite some time, Claire asked that a message be sent to her parents saying that she was doing a spot of shopping and would hire a cab to bring her home. The freedom made her heady with power. She had never done anything quite like what she was about to embark upon.

No one ever gave her enough credit, but Claire knew that her parents could never know what happened, so it was up to her to help poor William. _Poor William. How ironic._ But if not her, than who? Cutler? If he was there then he is equally responsible. His other friends? If they did not know, it was not her place to bring it to their attention. The offer of help had to sit squarely on her shoulders.

Satisfied that the rest of the day was hers, Claire made a calculated decision and hoped that the repercussions would not negate the necessary action. She needed to get to Cutler's home as quickly as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. Everyone at my work has been sharing and resharing the flu. I was one of the casualties. Thanks for your patience and for taking a peek!

* * *

Parked in front of a grand three-story edifice, Claire took a deep breath before departing the rented carriage, a bad case of nerves twisting her stomach. _I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. It is Cutler after all. Nothing should be frightening at this point. Not after all the liberties I have let him take._ After parting with a few coins to cover the fare, she took a deep breath and made her way to the front door. 

Standing on the top step, unsure if she was about to do was the right course of action or not, Claire realized that she had no idea how far into debt William actually was, so the fact that she was going to be asking for help seemed rather silly if she took the time to think about it. But regardless of the amount, Claire knew William needed help. A rumor like that just could not exist without something to validate it. And there was the fact that she was actually at Cutler's house. She had actually found the courage to not only ask for help, but begin to implement a plan to pay off William's debt. Claire lifted the knocker and rapped gently, praying that it was heard and that she would not have to do so again.

After a few moments, just when she was about to give up and retreat rather than knock again, Claire could hear the faint thumping as footsteps approached the door. Taking a nervous step back as the door opened, Claire found that she lost her voice when she came face to face with the angriest man she had ever seen.

His skin was slightly pocked, as if he suffered from a bad bout of acne when he was a teenager. The sides of his mouth were permanently lined, not from perpetually smiling, but from apparent constant scowling. Black hair was pulled back into a severe queue, so severe that Claire had to wonder if he did not suffer from constant headaches. His clothing was as dark as his attitude, but finely made and exquisitely designed. And he looked like he hated her on sight. Claire balled her hands into fists, her fingernails biting her skin, so that he would not see them shaking.

A dark brow quirked. "What?" he demanded, his Cockney accent abrasive against her ears.

Claire was suddenly disappointed in herself when she inhaled sharply from fear, but never before had a servant spoken to her in such a manner. Swallowing hard, Claire tried smiling benignly. "I—I have come to speak with Lord Cutler Beckett, sir. Please let him know that it is very important that I see him." She hated how meek she sounded.

He pursed his lips, as if confused, and then scowled harder, his dark brows knitting together, hooding hard black eyes. "You do not have an appointment and Lord Beckett is busy. Good day!" He then grabbed hold of the door and made to shut it in her face.

Taking a deep breath, Claire pulled from some reserve of bravery she never knew existed and stepped forward, darting around the man, until she was somehow standing in the foyer. Raising her chin, she informed the man, "I shall wait here. Please give this to Lord Beckett and let him know I need to seek his audience." Removing a calling card from her reticule, Claire tried to will her hands to stop trembling as she offered him the engraved paper.

When he did not move she felt anger welling inside of her. "I shall wait here," she repeated, quickly sinking into a chair, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture, hoping he took it for confidence. "You may go find Lord Beckett."

The man cast her an appraising look before clenching his jaw and slowly shaking his head, but he quickly spun on his heel and turned away. He disappeared around a corner and soon his echoing footsteps faded into silence.

Once she was alone, Claire felt her shoulders begin to tremble at her bold actions. Never before has she been so assertive, but never before had the circumstances been so dire. In fact, now that she was alone – and in Cutler's home, no less – Claire released a shaky laugh. Unable to believe that she had the gall to actually demand anything from anyone, she tightly gripped her reticule, needing something physical in her hands to keep her focused. Any moment, she knew she was going to bolt like a frightened rabbit.

Whether or not it was a blessing or a curse, she did not immediately know, the man reappeared and Claire watched silently as he closed the distance between the two of them, bemusement coloring his features. With a jerk of his chin, he indicated Claire should follow him. As she rose to her feet, he explained, "He says that he has a few free moments to see you. Seemed to know who you were, too. Follow me."

Unable to keep her gaze from wandering around her environs, Claire knew she was looking about slack-jawed as she marveled at the beauty surrounding her. Of course, she figured that Cutler would only own the best, but Claire was surprised at just opulent his tastes ran.

Green silk fabric wallpaper hugged the walls and extravagant portraits looked down upon her. This was not the same man she grew up with who had simple tastes forced upon him by circumstance. It would seem that the East India Trading Company had been good to Cutler. Very good.

Claire entered the library with a sense of awe. If she was impressed by the hallway, she was overwhelmed by the room she just entered.

From floor to ceiling, the entire room was lined with books. Leather-bound novels, journals, books of all kinds. It took everything in Claire's power not to spin in a circle to take it all in. Dark wood framed the tomes and covered the ceiling and floor. The little furniture in the room was massive and opulent. Cream-colored wool carpets softened her step. A fire popped in the fireplace at the far end of the room, casting warm shadows throughout the space.

Cutler was seated behind a desk on the far side of the room. He appeared to be going over figures in a ledger, making notes on a scrap piece of paper as his finger slid down the columns in the book. When Claire and her keeper entered the room, Cutler smiled and closed the leather-bound tome.

His blue eyes bored into her, sending a shiver up her spine. Not only were they one of his most striking features, but the way he drank in the sight of her made her feel warm and tight. Her chest felt tight. Her mouth went dry. It was difficult not to think about their last encounter.

But Claire had to remind herself to focus on the matter at hand.

Cutler rose and crossed the room, both hands extended to clasp Claire's. His brows rose in curiosity and his lips curved into a slightly perplexed smile. "Claire! To what do I owe this delightful visit?"

For a moment, Claire forgot how to breathe. The entire room fell away except for Cutler. Her pulse quickened. She did not even notice the manservant slip from the room. She just watched Cutler walk closer.

But then she snapped back to the present. _Keep to the task._ "I apologize for dropping by unannounced, as it seems that you are quite busy, according to your valet. And I must confess that it is business that brings me here, not pleasure." Claire felt the heat rising to her cheeks and had to look away lest he see how embarrassed she was.

Business? Cutler was intrigued, but instead of asking, he was going allow Claire to tell her story at her own pace. "You must forgive Mercer," he purred as he walked over to his liquor cabinet. "He is… very protective."

Unable to help herself, Claire arched a brow. "Then perhaps you ought to consider employing someone else to greet your callers." The words were out of her mouth before she realized and Claire instantly regretted her lack of etiquette.

Thankfully, Cutler was not offended. Throwing his head back, he barked out a laugh. "Perhaps. But Mercer does have his uses. And for the time being, I plan on keeping him around for a very long time. Now, would you care for something to drink? Tea? Or, perhaps, something stronger?"

_This is not a social call,_ she scolded herself. She needed to focus on that fact and only that fact.

Trying to look as pleasant but also as business-like as possible, Claire gently shook her head. "No. But thank you. I wish not to take up any more of your time than I have to, but please do not refrain on my account."

Pouring several fingers of liquor, Cutler looked over his shoulder as he replied, "Stay as long as you like. I would much rather visit with you rather go over these figures. Now, sit. Please. Let us talk about what brings you by today."

Claire sat in the chair Cutler indicated and then he slipped behind the desk, relaxing back in his chair. He took a sip of scotch, made a face as it burned its way down and then leaned forward. "So, business, you said. Do tell…"

Taking a deep breath, Claire knew the moment of truth arrived. Gripping her reticule tightly, she forced herself to speak slowly and keep her voice even. "I want to sell you my horse." She had been hoping to sound indifferent, almost bored, but she sounded almost frantic instead.

His brow arched, intrigued by the statement, but his features gave away nothing._Why was she suddenly willing to part with Centaur, whom she obviously loved?_ "While I find the offer very interesting, and tempting, I have to ask why." _Please do not let it be for William._

A flush rose in her cheeks, further heating her already warm skin. "I… I saw how much you… I…" This was not going right. She paused and lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "I was going to try and tell you a story to… Ah Cutler, I know not what to do. My brother is in a bind."

Cutler smiled ruefully and slowly shook his head. Of course she would know. Damn William for getting into this mess! For once, Cutler had not goaded his friend to delve further into his pockets, but instead argued to get out of the game. Once Cutler's own pockets were empty, he pressed William to abandon the cards, too. But William would not be dissuaded. It was almost like watching a drowning man frantically try to cling to something, anything, that floated by. He was going to win the next hand. But William never did.

And Claire apparently found out. And then deposited herself on his doorstep.

Leaning back in his seat, Cutler steepled his fingers, his fingertips pushing against his jaw so hard that his nails dug into the skin. He needed the pain to stay focused. His jaw clenched. Claire should not be here discussing business that she had no business knowing anything about. Striving for a pleasant yet firm tone, he proceeded. "Your horse is worth quite a bit, I concede that, but do you have any idea how much your brother owes?"

"I…" Claire thought better than make any suggestions. "No," she finished quietly, shaking her head.

Cutler sighed. He wrote a figure on a scrap of paper and slid it across the desk towards Claire.

Curious, she picked up the sheet and read it. Hope surged through her heart. While losing her horse would be difficult, the amount her brother owed was not as much as she feared. A smile curved her lips.

Which Cutler quickly wiped away. "That is not enough to cover you brother's debt. That is what I am offering you for Centaur."

Shock rode through her. If that was what Cutler was offering for Centaur, then how massive was the debt? No, William would have stopping playing way before he parted with the amount Cutler was offering. But the faith she had in her brother was suddenly crumbling. "But I don't understand," she sputtered. "Of course it should satisfy the debt."

Cutler stood, needing to work off the nervous energy he suddenly felt. He and Claire should have been taking a walk in the woods and sharing heated kisses instead of conferring about matters that affected neither of them. Knowing that this conversation was going to put a strain on their relationship, Cutler sadly shook his head. "Claire, William got himself into a situation I do not envy anyone. I do not mean to frighten you, but if he does not pay off the amount – and soon – the man he owes money to will take the pounds from him financially or from him physically. Claire, do you have any idea what William owes?"

Blinking several times, Claire mulled over the conversation. Apparently he owed more than Claire had even imagined. A headache was starting to form behind her eyes. And at the base of her skull. And across her cheekbones. _Bugger. What did William do this time?_ "I… I do not know." She hated the way that she sounded defeated, but gone where her girlish ideas of solving yet another of William's problems. _Not this time, it seems._

Cutler sat on the corner of the desk, hating what he was about to say, but realizing that no longer was he negotiating with his potential bride. No matter how the conversation ended, their brief romance was about to end. Damn that William! "He owes approximately fifteen thousand pounds."

Claire had to strain to hear Cutler's words. And then it took a moment for the words to register. The blood drained from her cheeks, her mouth drooped. "Good God," she whispered.

"Perhaps you would like that drink now?"

Taking her silence as agreement, Cutler crossed the room and poured her several fingers of scotch. He then returned and set the glass before her on the desk. "Sip slowly."

He then wrote a figure on a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. "This is new amount that I am willing to offer you for your horse. You can see that I am being quite generous in light of your reason for selling Centaur."

Silently, Claire took the paper and agreed that Cutler was being quite free with his purse. The number had increased slightly, but it still was not enough to cover William's debt.

Setting the paper back on the desk, Claire smiled sadly. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes and her throat was tight. "You are kind. And you can pick him up any time you like or I can arrange to have him brought over. Now, I need to come up with other ideas to get money to help William."

Leaning back in his chair, Cutler stared at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes in frustration. William made his own mess and Claire was bailing him out of his own self-made disaster yet again. And while Cutler was initially attracted to her guilelessness and naïveté, he was beginning to enjoy her quietly developing independent streak. "Claire, you need to nothing of the kind. William got himself into his mess. There is no reason for you to get him out of it. In fact, he needs to get himself out of his situation."

"Cutler, you know that I have never abandoned William in his time of need."

"Which is part of his problem."

Claire bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. While she silently agreed with Cutler, there was just no way that Claire would not move Heaven and Earth to help William. She looked at Cutler through the thick fringe of her lashes and tried to think of an appropriate retort, but none was forthcoming.

Taking her silence as anger, Cutler sighed. "Claire, I do not want to argue with you. I do not want to buy your horse under these circumstances, and if you want to out of the arrangement I understand, but I do want to help you. More than I want to help William. But now I want us to talk about something more uplifting, more entertaining. Your earnings from Centaur will go a long way and will buy William plenty of time. Right now, I am wondering if I might take you out to dinner."

Dinner? Well, she was hungry. But that was not why she was there. She came to Cutler's with a mission and while it was accomplished – in part – now was not the time to play. If anything, Claire needed to step it up a notch.

"Cutler…" she pleaded.

He paused. "Yes?"

"I… I have to do something," she said, her panic plain. "If there is nothing else that I could sell you, then help me come up with another idea! If William cannot pay that debt off, Suzanna will leave him. There has to be something, anything, I can offer… Some sort of arrangement we can make?"

Wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and let his imagination wander through the bold ideas her plea brought to mind, Cutler knew that he had to be cruel in order for Claire to understand that their conversation had ended. He was getting very tired of William and the carefree life he led, free of repercussions.

"Claire," he said, his voice taking on a lower cadence that promised fulfilling hidden desires and hinting at dangerous situations, "I now own the one thing you can offer me. And for this, I would let you keep your horse. The one thing that I want, but that you will not offer, is to rid you of your burden of virginity. And while I have no right to ask, unless you are willing to part your legs for me in exchange for paying off your brother's debt, I think our visit has come to an end."

No sooner were the words out of mouth, did Cutler regret them. What had seemed like a good, even playful, idea in theory turned out to be a huge mistake. But out there they were and he waited for Claire's reaction.

Claire looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. She could alternately feel the heat rising to her cheeks and then draining away. Taking several deep breaths as she struggled for control, Claire knew that Cutler was watching her breasts rise and fall while she attempted to digest what he had just proposed.

Finally able to find her voice, Claire finally rose to her feet and in a sweep of lashes, looked Cutler square in the eye. She then extended her hand and smiled sadly.

"Deal."


	12. Chapter 12

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

Standing before the mirror, Claire fretted with her hair yet again. She wanted to look perfect for the party… and for her rendezvous with Cutler. After all, once she was a fallen woman, it mattered not what she looked like so she might as well make the most of her fine accoutrements while she still could. But until then, Claire wanted one last hurrah. She wanted to look her best one last time before there would be no point of doing so ever again. The game that all women played in trying to catch a man for all eternity was about to end for her before it ever began, but, for once, Claire knew she looked spectacular. 

Dressed in a pale green dress – so pale that it looked nearly white – Claire emphasized the innocent look she wanted to achieve by wearing her hair down in thick curls that spilled past her shoulders rather than piled upon her head in a complicated style. The green also emphasized the red highlights in her hair and made her brown eyes appear so dark they looked like obsidian stones set in alabaster.

Prior to her agreement with Cutler, Claire had made every effort to appear her best whenever she went out. But once her fate had been sealed, every movement, every gesture, every detail was a calculated decision. It was almost like she was a different person… so methodical she was in every activity instead of the carefree girl she was not so long ago.

Tonight, she was paying the part of the virginal ingénue. While not afar stretch for her,Claire had decided that it seemed only fitting that she was nearly dressed for her own wedding since she would be acting out her wedding night later that evening. She was not so innocent as to not know what happened between a man and a woman, especially with her dressing maid to coach Claire on the specifics over late night tête-à-têtes as they hid under the bedclothes and whispered until sleep pulled them into its arms.

Anna would crawl into bed with Claire and the two women would giggle and whisper under the covers as Anna would scandalize Claire with her recounts of encounters she had with various men. Most of what Anna said Claire did not believe, but now each story was coming back to Claire as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Claire just hoped that Cutler knew what he was doing. Anna told tales of when men did not even the most basic principles of copulation but still pretended that they did. And Claire knew she did not want to be with someone as bumbling and inept as she would be. Not after hearing some of the tales Anna told.

But if he did not, it mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, what was to be done later would be done – no matter what.

Unless Cutler changed his mind. And Claire knew there would be no chance of that happening.

But the hardening of her heart that she felt in the drawing room with her friends a few weeks ago when they disclosed her brother's secret continued to build until her skin had the weight of a knight's armor. No longer was she interested in the vapid gossip her friends buzzed about during their afternoon teas. No longer did she wish to practice her piano scales on the off chance some gentleman caller stopped by and wished to hear her play. No longer did she want to be excused from the dinner table while men stayed behind and talked about business and politics.

If anything in the world happened that affected her, Claire wanted to be a part of it. Why was it that a woman's role was that of someone who was reactive rather than the man's role of being proactive? Was it not the women who had to fix the messes that men created?

But, no matter, soon she would be married off to some widower with a houseful of children whose mama died of some terrible disease – or something equally horrible and yet equally romantic. Claire would become the evil stepmother to a brood of children who hated her and the wife to a husband who despised her for not being the woman who died.

Because Claire knew that once Cutler got what he wanted, then she would be of no further use to him. She knew that her reputation would probably be ruined. She knew that her chances of a good marriage were going to be practically nil once he…

Claire rolled her shoulders back and resolved not to think about what was going to happen later that night. She did what she had to do. Even if it meant making a deal with the devil. It was just too bad that the devil happened to be the man she had already considered to be her future husband. But if there were any regrets, it was that she could not do more for her brother.

However, with this arrangement, William would get to keep the fair Suzanna.

As soon as he asked for her virtue in return for paying off the debt, Claire knew that whatever future betrothal she had hoped for with Cutler died there in his library. Claire might have been naive, but she did know that men were killed for forfeiting lesser amounts than her brother owed. So she was grateful that Cutler was able to – and actually did – pay off the debt William owed prior to Claire fulfilling her end of the bargain.

But tonight, she was to carry out her end of the agreement.

Suzanna's parents were throwing the official engagement party that evening. The party Claire's parents threw a few weeks earlier was substantial, but by no means as extravagant as this party promised to be. Claire's mother called the previous party a precursor, to whet their friends' and family's appetite. From what Claire could surmise, even more people were coming to this party than were being invited to the actual wedding, so it would be easy to get lost in the press of bodies.

Which meant sometime during the course of the party, she and Cutler would steal away.

It was almost ironic, if she really thought about it, that the last time Cutler took her out socially, if he had propositioned Claire with those honeyed lips of his kissing her own, Claire probably would have acquiesced. But here she was, giving away her only chance at a proper marriage and nary a current of desire flowed through her body.

Claire exhaled a long shuddering sigh. She was not looking forward to the party in the least.

Not because of her fate that evening. That she had already reconciled her lot and accepted it and had since moved beyond. But because she knew feigning her enthusiasm over her brother's impending nuptials would require her best acting ever.

_Why, William still has no idea how his debt got settled. In fact, he did not even care. He just accepted the fact that he did not owe any money without contemplating the how of that fact and moved on with his life. So, yet again, William leads the charmed life and I am left suffering the consequences of his actions. However, I should not begrudge him this. This lot in my life is my own doing. I could have refused Cutler. I could have just sold my horse and let William come up with the rest. Or I could have let William deal with the consequences of his actions. The golden child that William has become started before I was born, but I have done nothing to diminish his shine. _

With a frustrated sigh, Claire launched herself onto her bed and landed on her side with a soft plop. Doing her best to keep from mussing her hair and wrinkling her dress, Claire pouted. Cupping her chin in her hands, she leaned on her elbows and thought about all the things that she wanted for herself.

_I want a coming out party. I want a debut Season. I want William to do something nice for me. I want… _

There was a soft knock on the door and then her mother slipped into the room. Claire quickly scrambled off the bed and waited for the lecture of unladylike behavior. Instead, with a sigh of appreciation, her mother smiled at her and ran her hands down the length of Claire's arms. If Claire was not so sure that her mother's happiness was due to the engagement party, she would be basking in the warmth of her mother's smile. Instead, she felt the icy finger of jealousy dance along her spine.

Holding Claire's hand in her own, Elaine stepped back and beamed at her daughter. "You look beautiful, Claire. So… ethereal. Cutler is going to have a difficult time keeping you away from men asking for you to join them in a dance. But why have your hair down tonight?"

Glancing in the mirror and forcing herself to smile rather than grimace, Claire looked at her reflection and realized that her mother was right – she looked delicate and wraithlike. For so long she felt as gangly as a newborn foal, but Claire suddenly realized that she had finally emerged from awkward youth to lithe woman. What before was a detriment – long limbs, fluted neck and sharp angles – was now something to embrace. Claire quickly looked away, uncomfortable with her own image.

The warm tone of her mother's voice caused Claire's heart to swell and her stomach to drop. How to explain that she wanted her night with Cutler to have as great affect on him as it would on her and she dressed with that in mind? Claire softly coughed to clear her throat and said, "I thought… I did not want to compete with Suzanna for any of the attention tonight. It is her – and William's – night to shine. I thought that having my hair down might make me look less noticeable. I was hoping to blend into the background of the party." Claire knew that her explanation was uninspired, but was unable to come up with anything more convincing.

Elaine held her tongue, knowing that there was something more to her daughter's explanation, but felt that by prying she would be undermining Claire's newly eked out independence. Claire had been putting up with a lot lately and had taken being put aside during all the wedding chaos rather well. There would be time later to discuss her debut Season. For now, Elaine held her tongue and painted a serene smile on her lips. "Well, by wearing your hair down, you look even more lovely. Cutler will find himself competing with others for your attention."

Claire ducked her head and smiled to herself. _Not after tomorrow morning, Mother. In fact, these might be some of the last loving words you ever speak to me._

"My little girl is growing up…"

_Sooner than you think. _

"…And I am so very proud of you. And so if your father. Thank you for being patient with us. We know how disappointed you were not to debut this year and we promise to make it up to you."

_You are proud now, but come tomorrow, you will be sorry you did not marry me off during the Season when you had a chance. You will never know why I did it, but I am certain you will learn what I shall do tonight. And once again, William will be the favored child._

Oblivious to her daughter's melancholy, Elaine picked up Claire's shawl and placed it on her shoulders. Squeezing Claire's upper arms, she leaned in and whispered in her daughter's ear, "Ready?"

Claire smiled at her mother's reflection in the mirror, aware that the gesture did not quite reach her eyes. "As I will ever be."


	13. Chapter 13

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

"You do not look well." 

Claire looked over at Cutler, who was firmly planted next to her, his hand on her elbow. His words interrupted her thoughts of their later rendezvous. His eyes were scanning the crowd, a serene smile curving his lips, but Claire could see the tension that kept his posture ramrod straight. For all appearances, Cutler was enjoying the party, dutifully staying by Claire's side in a way that was protective and endearing.

Only, Claire knew just how nervous he was.

"'Tis nerves only," she assured Cutler. "But 'twill make it all the more convincing when I do beg off the rest of the evening. Do not worry – I intend on keeping my end of the bargain. You kept your end, so who am I to welch on a deal?"

The fierce determination that painted Claire's features was almost enough for Cutler to free her from her expected duties.

But not quite.

Cutler did want to tell her that he did not intend on casting her aside once she fulfilled her obligation to the deal they set. In fact, this… arrangement she made for her brother endeared Claire to him even more. Ever since the words spilled forth out of his mouth, making the deal that set Claire's fate for later that night, Cutler regretted not letting William get hauled off to debtor's prison. It would have served William right and saved the impossible strain it put on Cutler's relationship with Claire.

But what was done was done. And Cutler would be remiss if he lied and said that he was not looking forward to their later activities with some excitement. He just wished that Claire were also.

Turning to face his companion, Cutler put on a mask of indifference. "If you are ready, I shall arrange for my driver to come around. Go tell your parents that you are unwell. I shall be over in a few moments to let them know I will take you home, allowing them to stay for the remainder of the party."

Claire silently nodded her head, despite the fact that the slight movement made her already upset stomach want to churn. But then a thought appeared and no matter how she tried, Claire could not find an answer for it.

"What shall we do if my parents insist on taking me home themselves?"

"They will not." The words Cutler spoke were emphatic.

Cutler was correct. When Claire approached her parents, complaining of stomach pain, the crestfallen looks on their faces tore at Claire's heart. It was not that they were upset that their daughter was ill – it was the idea that Claire would want them to depart from the party that they found most distressing. But Cutler could not have timed it better, suddenly materializing from the crowd and offering to take Claire home himself. Her parents could not have looked more relieved.

The coach ride passed in silence between the two of them. Claire stared out the window, fully aware that Cutler stared at her the entire time. But the weight of his gaze was too much for her to bear, so she instead took the childish route of ignoring him. Her mind raced, trying to project what life would be like come morning, but the only thing that her mind would entertain was the fact that not only would she be undressed in front of Cutler, but he would be absent clothes also.

Her cheeks burned at the thought of seeing Cutler undressed. Granted, there was a time, not that long ago, where Claire would have allowed him certain liberties in return for the pleasures he brought her. _Certain liberties… If he had not shown the sense of decorum he had in the recent past, I would not feel as if I am going to my execution right now. Of course, if the damage was already done, I would not have a bargaining chip in which to keep my brother out of debtor's prison or, even worse, dead in an unmarked grave. _

"Claire, we are at my home."

Cutler's voice, husky and low, broke through her thoughts. It took a moment for the words to register, but Claire bit her bottom lip, then nodded in understanding. This was it. No turning back. Following Cutler out into the night air, Claire descended the steps and allowed him to take her hand as she alighted from the coach.

_Chin up. Do not show how frightened you are. _

Climbing the steps to his townhouse, Claire felt as if her cheeks were burning so brightly that people might rise from their beds thinking it the morning and then see her for what she was – a trollop. And her hope beyond hope was dashed when the front door was opened by his valet. Cutler had not dismissed his staff for the evening before he departed for the party. A knowing look was painted across the valet's features as he bowed from the waist as Claire passed into the foyer.

"Mercer, you are dismissed for the evening. And for tomorrow." Cutler pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it towards the man, which he plucked out of the air. "Enjoy your day off."

Nodding his head, a sinister smile curved Mercer's lips. "'Ave a good ev'ning, Lord Beckett. Although I cannot imagine you 'aving anything but with the likes of your comp'ny." His gaze raked the length of Claire's form, causing her take a step back in retreat.

Seeing Claire visibly stiffen, Cutler reprimanded his manservant. "That will do Mercer."

"As you say." Mercer bowed again, then retreated from the room.

Left alone, Cutler felt as awkward as Claire looked. He took a step towards her which caused Claire to take a step back. This would get them no where fast. _An awkward dance and we are more than ten feet apart._ Sighing, Cutler opted to stay rooted in place, but extended his arm. "Let me take your wrap."

Nervously running her fingers through her loose tresses, Claire clutched at her shawl with her other hand. "I… I would like to hold onto it for a little while longer." _Great, now I sound like a jumpy chit._

Cutler nodded his head as if he had not a care in the world. He glided from the entryway into the parlor, figuring the best way to get close to Claire was to move in the opposite direction as her. He was right; she followed with tentative steps.

Opening his liquor cabinet, he splashed some brandy into a snifter and extended it towards his guest. "Care for a drink?"

Claire smiled tightly and shook her head in the negative. Her stomach was churning enough without adding something liquid to it. "I would rather not."

Raising a brow, he replied, "I think that you should. It might… warm your bones and calm your nerves."

The way he suggested a drink made Claire reconsider her decision. It would seem that Cutler had more experience in such matters, so she deferred to the man standing not an arm's reach before her. Looking at his hand, clasping the bowl of the glass, Claire marveled at the muscles and veins bulged, then imagined the hand clasping her. Never had she been so aware of his maleness. Needing something, anything, to cut through her discomfiture she acquiesced. "Maybe... maybe just a taste."

Taking the offered drink, Claire smiled over the rim of the glass before taking a tentative sip. Confident that the sweet liquor was going to stay in her stomach, she nodded her head and drifted over towards the behemoth fire place that had a small fire blazing, taking the chill out of the room. She perched on the edge of a bench, the glass cradled in her hands, her gaze on the flames licking the iron fireback.

Cutler realized that they would be sitting in his parlor when he would begin his seduction. Not exactly where he had planned on romancing his guest, but it did indeed set a more innocent stage for which to extract Claire's charms. In fact, it was probably better than his intended plan of whisking her up the stairs and into his bedroom. Grinning to himself, he sat next to Claire on the bench, allowing enough space between them for Claire to be comfortable but close enough that she was fully aware of his presence.

Moments passed, neither one speaking, when Cutler finally reached out and took the glass from Claire, setting it on the floor alongside his own. He then took her hands in his and smiled. The gesture never quite reached his eyes, but neither did Claire's when she mirrored his motions. He slid closer to her, grateful that she did not retreat or look frightened. In fact, she looked compliant. Resigned. Almost apathetic.

_On second thought, maybe if she looked a little frightened, I could soothe her fears. _

A hand reached up and caressed her jaw. His thumb drug across her bottom lip. His other hand wound through her silky tresses as he brought his mouth to hers. "Claire, it is time to begin," he murmured, his breath ghosting across her lips.

Claire closed her eyes as her lips touched his. His kiss was feather-light… warm and tender. Thoughts whirled through her mind and she suddenly focused on the taste of his kiss – brandy, cigar and something decidedly male.

Her breathing became erratic... quicker... an obvious sign that she was nervous, but Cutler's kiss was so familiar to her, so right. Claire's hands grasped the lapels of his jacket as she clung to the sensation that was so pleasant and yet so foreign. She had to focus on what was happening rather than think about the unknown that was about to be hoisted upon her. _Now, only think about now._

Cutler's arm wrap around her waist and their bodies pressed together. He then pushed Claire backwards, encouraging her to recline. She could feel the full depth of his arousal from this position and it caused her to suck in her breath. The magnitude of the situation was crushing down on her and while Claire felt overwhelming apprehension, she also felt nervous desire.

He had paused in kissing her. Instead, his breath ghosted across her lips as his fingers slid over the contours of her face, as if he were a blind man memorizing the location of his most prized possessions. The light from the fire cast the planes of her face in a warm glow and caused the valleys to hide in shadow. Her full lips, dark brows and heated eyes were in sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. Cutler wanted to savior the moment and was doing his best to imprint the scene in his mind.

But the break in his physical pleasure-seeking caused Claire's mind to wander. And with the thoughts dancing through her mind, the passion and desire building in her quietly began to dissipate. What would her mother think if she could see her now? Would her parents be angrier with her for trading her maidenhead to save her brother or would her brother bear the brunt of their anger for getting himself in such a position?

But as quickly as the thoughts entered her head, they were gone, for now Cutler resumed his assault of her lips with his own. His hands were on her skin, caressing her throat and shoulders, then slipping to dance along the swells of her breasts. Feeling her stiffen in fear below him in fear, Cutler whispered, "Please. Relax. I promise that I will do my best not to hurt you."

Swallowing hard, she became filled with determination. Claire snaked her fingers through his hair, loosening and discarding the ribbon that held his queue in place. Her lips were hot as she drew his mouth back down upon hers. Her lips parted, allowing him entrance to the velvet heat of her mouth. Her legs parted slightly, letting Cutler settle more firmly in the cradle of her thighs. Her hands roamed up and down his back, making languid patterns.

Claire was not resisting his advances, thank God. In fact, far from it. Cutler knew he was a cad to force her to follow through with the deal, but she was ripe for the taking and, so far, he had yet to take her as far as he had in previous encounters. Obviously, if she resisted, he would not force her to follow through with their deal. He may be a lot of things, but a rapist was not one of them.

But what he wanted to do to her – lift her skirts and plunge into her wet heat – would ruin her beyond repair if he stumbled onward without forethought. Cutler knew he would have to proceed slowly once she was divested of her garments, no matter how much he wanted her breasts in his mouth. No matter how much he wanted to spread her thighs. No matter how much he wanted to take her over and over again until dawn colored the sky. Having Claire below him was a temptation nearly to great to bear.

And voices whispered in his head saying that he and Claire would need to marry soon in order to preserve her standing in Society. And once they were married, he could take her as often, and for as long, as he liked.

Cutler enthusiastically responded to her fervor, pleasantly surprised by her unexpected response to the situation. But he would not last much longer. His mouth against her ear, he whispered, "It is time. We shall go. Now."

"To where?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. What was she doing wrong?

"My bed."


	14. Chapter 14

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

Claire's heart thundered in her chest as each step she took up the staircase led her closer to Cutler's bedroom. His hand, warm and smooth, as if he had never done a day of hard labor despite her knowing to the contrary, enveloped hers and led her up the steps. Her fate had been sealed by her own doing, so she had no one to blame but herself. In fact, she had been expecting this day for weeks. Yet Claire felt like each step was taking her closer to her execution. Maybe it was due to the fact that Claire felt that she had been cheated out of her future by the one person who could help her secure sound prospects – her brother. 

_Do not think about William at a time like this. You must banish him from your thoughts and only concentrate on Cutler. _

"After you."

His words drifted in the air, caressing Claire's cheek. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her hand to leave his. Cutler's fingers tightened a moment, as if refusing to break contact, then eased and his hand fell to his side. Claire momentarily wondered at his reluctance to let go, even when he initiated the split, but then she pressed her lips together and nodded her head in acknowledgement. Her skin felt alive, like it was a separate entity from Claire, and every hair of her body stood at attention.

This was it.

Claire entered the room with much trepidation, unsure of what lay beyond the doorway. But she held her head high and even managed a tight smile as she briefly glanced at Cutler when she walked past him. Passing through into the chamber, she saw that the bedroom was actually divided into two rooms. She entered what looked to be a combination of drawing room and dressing room, then beyond double pocket doors was the bedroom proper.

In the antechamber, the walls were covered in hand-painted silk wallpaper of pastoral scenes. Portraits, of family members undoubtedly, looked down at Claire, judgment in their eyes. Several bookcases were filled to overflowing with leather-bound tomes and journals that were stuffed with loose pieces of paper, tied shut with bits of ribbon or cord. There was also a small desk that housed personal correspondence. A fireplace that was set, but not lit. A chair drawn up before the fireplace, looking like a cozy place to read. An immense wool rug with vivid colors quieted her footsteps as Claire sank into the pile.

Beyond the pocket doors, from the brief glimpse she tossed in that direction, Claire was able to ascertain that there was Cutler's clothes cupboard, another fireplace – this one lit – a stand with pitcher and basin… and his bed.

His bed.

Claire forced herself to look at the massive berth. The room was cast in purple shadows, due to the late hour, and yet the burnished wood of his enormous four-poster bed glowed in the firelight. Thinking that there was nothing more fitting than a scarlet coverlet covering the location of her impending ruin, Claire could not help but be impressed by the behemoth piece of furniture. The headboard rose nearly to the ceiling, heavily carved with images from Greek and Roman mythology. Matching red silk curtains hung between the carved posts and a black canopy sheltered whatever inhabitants might sleep in the confines of the bed.

Claire had to wonder how many other woman had been tumbled in the bed… how many had given over their virginity to Cutler.

_Stop it! __Think only of now.__Only of you and Cutler.__ There is no one else but the two of you._

Having to look elsewhere, Claire focused on the molding that edged the ceiling and let out a long shuddering breath. Was there a proper way of telling him that she just wanted to complete her end of the bargain? Under different circumstances, she might have found being alone in a man's bedroom titillating… even romantic. Instead, all she saw was a room devoid of feminine touches and filled with masculine power.

Cutler's steps were silent on the rug as he came up behind her. When his hand settled on her shoulder, Claire jumped and let out a mew of surprise. Her own hand went to her throat, in an attempt to swallow back her heart as it threatened burst out of her chest, and she spun around, suddenly unsure of Cutler's motives. Maybe he did not intend on parting her from her virtue, instead thinking of something far more sinister. Coming face-to-face with Cutler, who instantly placed both hands on Claire's waist and pulled her securely against his body, she gave another gasp of fright.

But at least she knew his intentions.

He chuckled indulgently, then leaned in as if to kiss her. When Claire stiffened in his arms, Cutler paused a moment, as if considering something, his eyes going dark, before brushing aside her hair from the creamy length of her neck. His knuckles caressed the delicate skin, sending shivers through her body. "Breathe, Claire," he whispered in her ear. "Relax and let me…" Cutler paused, struggling to find the proper words. "Let me make this as pleasurable for you as possible. Do not think about anything but the sensations you feel. Take the emotion out of the equation."

Unable to bear looking him in the eye at that moment, Claire just simply nodded her head. Her gaze traced the designs in the carpet as she gathered her courage. While she had grown up with Cutler and knew him better than most, there was something about him that she could not place… something that hinted of utter ruthlessness. Something that whispered at a hidden brutality which frightened her more than she was willing to admit. The nerves she felt were not because she would soon be parting with her maidenhead, but because Claire knew not what the man before her was capable of doing. No longer was he the boy that she considered to be her other brother. The man before her was completely that – a man. Masculine and dangerous.

And ever so handsome.

His voice was hushed, quiet, the same tone she had heard him use when his dog had cut its foot when they were children. "I will be gentle, Claire. Most women have the same fears going through their heads as you have going through yours right now. But there is nothing to fear for I promise to make this evening one of the most pleasurable you have ever experienced." When Claire did not comment, or even bring up her gaze to meet Cutler's, he smiled wanly.

As much as Cutler wanted Claire, and he wanted her with every fiber of his being, this was not how he imaged her great seduction. But it was what it was. He just hoped that William would never find out – or find out long after Cutler and Claire had wed. But more than that, Cutler wished for Claire to enjoy herself, despite the circumstances. He then cleared his throat and gestured for Claire to move into the bedroom proper. "Shall we?"

Taking a deep breath, very aware of her breasts rising and falling as she did so, Claire forced herself to look in his eyes. A blush tinged her cheeks, but she lifted her chin and summoned a smile she did not feel. Claire then nodded once and glided into the inner room.

Unsure of where to go – sit on the bed? stand by the warmth of the fire? – Claire opted to make her way over to a window, drawing back the drape and looking at the street below. A fine mist was falling, wetting the streets and promising to bring more torrential rains. But until then, everything looked clean and new. But anything would be preferable to focus on besides the piece of furniture she would soon lay upon. The bed was just to her right, looming and ominous. Knowing that it was futile to ignore, Claire nonetheless decided that Cutler would need to lead her to the piece of furniture rather than the other way around.

Behind her, Claire could hear the pocket doors as they rolled shut, then a soft click that echoed in the stillness as the latch was set. An involuntary shiver traveled down her spine as Claire realized that she was locked into a room in a house where she and Cutler were the only occupants. And no one knew where she was. Anything could happen to her and no one would be the wiser.

_No one will be the wiser about what happens in here until Cutler casts me aside. __Then everyone will know._

Even before his hand cupped her elbow, Claire felt the warmth of Cutler behind her. Like the soft heat radiating from a lantern or candle, Cutler's presence was actually comforting and reassuring rather than frightening. But she knew there would be no waiting, no hesitating on his part. As nervous as Claire was, she expected the contact, so she did not flinch when he touched her. In fact, her eyes almost shut and she had to fight a sigh that threatened to purr past her lips. There was a tingle of eagerness that traveled through her body as she remembered the pleasures Cutler bestowed upon her in previous meetings.

She briefly wondered if Cutler expected her to turn around, but he seemed content with Claire's back to him, so she did not dare to face him. Not yet. Not when his ministrations felt so good.

Through the thin fabric of her sleeves, Claire felt his fingernails trail up and down her arms before he grasped her just above the elbows, pulling her back snugly against his chest. His breath was hot on her neck before his lips burned the skin just below her ear. His hands then slid upward, tugging at the shoulders of Claire's dress as Cutler kissed his way down the length of her neck, biting at the soft flesh just above her collarbone.

Claire rolled her head back, granting Cutler greater access to her throat. His hands dropped to her waist and started to slide up her torso. His fingers skimmed across the fabric at an agonizingly slow pace. All she wanted to do was grab his hands and move them faster, but instead grabbed the material of her skirt, balling the fabric repeatedly until it reached mid-calf.

His hand inched upwards towards her breasts and Claire bit her bottom lip in anticipation. She felt her nipples tighten and the juncture between her legs grow damp. When his fingers sought – and found – the puckered tip of her left breast, Cutler teased and worried it without mercy. The reactions Cutler created traveled from the tip of her nipple and ended in a tightness between her thighs. She rolled her hips slightly, unsure of what to do with her reactions, and pushed her breast hard against his hand, begging for more intense sensations. Goosebumps peppered her skin as he pinched and twisted in response, a tiny mew escaping past her lips.

His other hand worked at slowly unbuttoning the back of her gown. Her anticipation increased as he slid the garment from one shoulder, exposing tender skin. His mouth burned and his teeth were sharp as he nipped his way down onto her arm, then worked his way back up her neck, his tongue curving along her earlobe.

As if operating under its own directive, Claire's arm reached behind her head to caress Cutler, needing to touch him. Needing to know that what she felt was real, not a dream. Feeling the silky texture of his hair beneath her fingertips, she noted that as her fingers wound through his tresses, it was his own hair she touched rather than his pretentious wig. Her hand balled into a fist, burying her fingers in the softness, and while she made sure not to pull Cutler's hair, she found herself losing the battle against the sensations washing over her.

The back of her dress was open to the waist and he slid the garment off her torso, helping her untangle her arms from the sleeves. It whispered and rustled as it skimmed down her skin and away from her corset. When the bodice pooled around her waist, Claire took several deep breaths, feeling her breasts rise and fall, her nipples rubbing against the gauzy fabric of her chemise, the corset suddenly feeling too tight.

Cutler pressed up against her, his desire physically evident as he cradled her backside against his groin. She instinctively took a step forward, away from Cutler and towards the cool panes of glass, towards the world that she knew so well just beyond. The sensations and emotions washing over Claire were almost too much to bear, so she tried to move away from Cutler. Away from the illicit promises of pleasure and gratification. Away from the unknown. His breath in her ear alone made her knees weak. What was to happen when his mouth traveled elsewhere?

"Afraid?" A brow rose, the tone of his voice mildly arrogant. But there was an overture of insecurity in the inflection also.

Claire hesitated. Should she, would she, dare tell him the truth? It was so obvious that she was frightened and yet so… pleased, but Claire felt the need to maintain a strong façade. "No. Not afraid. Well, maybe a little. But more like… anxious." _For this to be over with._

"Then why fight this," he purred. The smugness of his tone showed that any timidity on his part had been chased away. He then began to coax her to turn around, nipping along her jawline, attempting to steal a kiss, while spanning her waist with his hands and gently, ever so gently, encouraging her to pivot.

His blatant desire caused a shiver of delight to dance up and down Claire's spine. Why on earth was she trying to get away from him?

"Why indeed." Claire bit back a barbed comment and instead opted for honesty. "Forgive me for not knowing how to behave, Cutler. I must admit that I am at somewhat of a disadvantage." Despite the pounding of her heart that threatened to burst out of her and fly about the room, Claire was proud that her voice was composed, possibly even a little coquettish. _There, that makes me look innocent and yet not completely naive. _

Looking momentarily stunned, Cutler digested Claire's words. He had gotten so caught up in his actions, that it never occurred to Cutler that she would be frightened. They had engaged in such activities before – indeed, they had gone much farther – but with the thought of consummating their relationship hanging over Claire's head, it was a wonder she was enjoying herself at all. "I meant not to tease, only to offer guidance – and pleasure. And while I can certainly continue what I am doing while behind you, I think that you will certainly enjoy what I can offer just a tad more if you were to turn around." He paused, recognizing that he was still somewhat flippant. "Please?"

Realizing that there was no more hiding from the task at hand, Claire rolled her shoulders back. She was certainly enjoying herself, but Claire knew Cutler was clever, dangerously so, at turning words into phrases and then twisting them with allusions, hinting at the truth without actually lying, but also not quite telling the truth. She may be an innocent and ignorant of the art of worldly scheming, but Claire was aware that Cutler was a master at the art of seduction. And knowing that empowered her. Taking a deep breath, Claire slowly turned to face him.

And felt her breath whoosh out of her lungs.

For long moments she could not look past the open V of his shirt. The cravat encircling his throat had been tossed aside and his shirt was open at the throat… teasing her with what lay beyond. His skin was so dark compared to his white lawn shirt and the soft hair of his chest peeked out, beckoning her to run her fingers through it. Some sort of primal urge came over her and Claire suddenly wanted to know what her skin felt like pressed up against her bare chest.

When her gaze finally traveled upward, Claire saw delight in Cutler's eyes. Words left her, as did any sense of embarrassment. Because while there was amusement dancing in their depths, there was also naked desire in his gaze. His white wig was indeed gone and his hair hung loose, framing his face. Not sure where the urge came from, her right hand arced upwards and smoothed back a stray lock off his forehead. His eyes softened.

Cutler gawked at her nearly naked form. Still unsure of how he managed to make the agreement of Claire's virtue in payment for settling William's debts, Cutler wanted to be disgusted with himself for allowing such a contract to occur. And yet… having Claire in his bedroom, golden and rosy in the glow of the fireplace as she stood before him in such a state of disarray… Cutler fancied coming home to evenings with her looking just so for the rest of his life. A proposal was on the tip of his tongue when he quickly swallowed it back. There would be time enough for sentiment later. Instead, he pulled Claire into an embrace before she changed her mind.

Once she was snug against him, Cutler's fingers slid into her hair, entwining into her tresses, tilting her head back for a better angle, and lowered his mouth to sip from hers. She tasted of wine and innocence. He wanted to drink more. Tipping Claire's head back, he kissed with absolutely no mercy.

His lips ghosted above Claire's, then deepened as she allowed her mouth to mold against his. He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, cajoling her into parting her lips. At first gentle and tentative, his mouth soon claimed hers, of which, after a moment's hesitation, she yielded completely.

Claire's arms went to his chest, her fingers gripping, then bunching, the front of his shirt. She moaned deep in her throat and suddenly grasped his wrists, holding him to her. He smelled like cigars, wine and leather. And sin. His deep kisses caused responses in her body that made her to sway against Cutler. Leaning into him to not only keep her balance, but to also feel every possible tactile sensation, Claire pressed her breasts against his chest, enjoying the way it felt. But by doing so, Claire also realized she was pressing her stomach firmly against his belly… and her hips were snug against his pelvis. And his body responded in acknowledgement.

Cutler broke the kiss, the heat of his panting breaths warm on her face. If he was to allow Claire to break from her promise, this was the time. Despite the tightness of his voice, Cutler's words were laced with seduction. "Do you… do you need a moment? Do you wish for me to stop?" God's teeth, but it would kill him to stop, but he would not take Clairewithout her consent.

Unsure of the cause of his sudden gallantry, Claire cocked her head, panting just as hard as he. Her lips felt bruised from the kissing – and felt very naked without his lips upon them. She greatly wished to resume their activities, but felt too shy to be so forward. Instead, she replied, "The thought never crossed my mind. Why do you ask?" While it was something less than perfect truth, Claire hoped that she was not doing anything erroneously that made Cutler regret maintaining his end of the bargain.

He stared at her for several long moments. Not saying a word, Cutler allowed his gaze to drop to the swells of her breasts mounding above the top of her corset. His hands went to her sides, tugging her dress past her hips so that it flowed down her legs. He had unhooked her petticoats also, so they joined her dress in a pool of fabric around her ankles. When offered, she took his hand as Cutler helped her step free of her garments.

Dressed in only her chemise and corset, Claire knew it would be but moments before her stays were removed and felt a naughty thrill at her audacity pass through her. While she felt very exposed and vulnerable in her state of undress, knowing just how much Cutler wanted her gave Claire a sense of power despite the fact that he was still fully dressed. His gaze raked over her in complete abandon.

"Claire, you…" Cutler's mouth went dry, so he swallowed hard and tried again. "Claire, you are splendid. In every way. Never, ever forget that." His gaze then returned to her face, his expression knowing, as if he could read her thoughts.

Which Claire found very unnerving, as she did not know what to think. She only wanted to feel.

Cutler removed his shirt in one fluid motion. Claire had but a moment to look at his bare torso before Cutler pulled her against him. The contact was shocking. His bare arms wrapping around hers. His hands ghosting along the bare expanse of her back, seeking the ties of her corset to unlace. Goosebumps rose on her skin in response despite how warm he felt. And feeling intoxicated, her mind fogged as if she had one glass too many of wine.

His mouth savaged Claire's as her continued to loosen her corset. Where his lips were brutal, Cutler's fingers were gentle, occasionally dancing across the skin between her shoulder blades, causing her to shiver against him. When the corset was completely unlaced, Cutler let it fall away and took a step backwards, staring in awe.

Cutler felt his mouth slack his desire, like a young schoolboy before his first woman. There had been many women before Claire and yet he shared in the sense of awe she was experiencing. And while it was very frightening to feel so out of control after so many years, he felt a renewed sense of enthusiasm in his sexual appetite. With Claire, there would be no going through the motions to find release. Knowing that, Cutler gazed upon Claire openly.

Standing before Cutler in only her chemise, Claire forced herself not to cross her arms across her chest. She was fully aware that her nipples were dusky shadows beneath the gauzy garment. And if Cutler could see the pink tips of her breasts, then she knew, without looking, that he could see a shadow of the dark hair between her legs. But instead of being embarrassed, Claire felt a tremor ache at the juncture of her thighs and the wetness surge. In fact, with every breath she took, her chemise rubbed against her aching tips making Claire feel wanton.

Cutler closed the distance between them, his breath whispering over her skin before he dipped down and gently kissed her. Claire answered him, her fingers winding into his hair, pinning his mouth to hers. Pulling the neckline of her chemise down, Cutler found an erect nipple waiting for him and began to worry it between his fingers. Claire sucked in a breath and shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to melt into the pleasure Cutler created.

Kissing his way along her jaw, Cutler took his time as made his way over to the sensitive area just behind her earlobe. His fingers gently plucked at her breasts, making them harder than he though possible. "Thank you," Cutler whispered against her ear before trailing kisses down the arch of her neck, past her collarbone before his hands cupped her breasts and swirling his tongue around her aureole before suckling hard on her nipple.

Lightening bolts of pleasure shot through Claire, ending between her legs. Despite grabbing his wrists with her nails digging into his skin, although Claire herself could not be sure if it was to stop the assault on her breasts or to encourage him on, Cutler continued worshipping first one nipple, then the other as he alternated between gentle caresses with his tongue and searing nips with his teeth.

The room spun around Claire and she her knees became liquid, causing her to collapse into Cutler's arms.

Cutler scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the bed, a gleam in his eyes that slightly unnerved Claire, but also made her reach for him. She drew him down on top of her, gasping at how right it felt to have his weight settle upon her. Cutler's thick arms on each side of her shoulders caged her to the bed as his mouth found hers, a moan rumbling from the depths of his chest.

Cutler then rolled off Claire and settled along the length of her as he braced himself on an elbow. His other hand traced circles on Claire's belly, building the anticipation of what he was going to do next. Letting his fingers wander lazily, Cutler watched Claire react to his ministrations with a sense of awe. He had bedded numerous women before, but had never initiated a girl into womanhood. Never before had he thought about how to build the tension between his partner and himself – usually his lovemaking consisted of tearing each other's clothes off, then letting his partner enjoy herself to orgasm, followed by his own.

Claire, too, rolled on her side, so as to face Cutler. Placing her hands on his chest, she marveled at the texture of his hair and wondered if it felt the same down the whole length of his torso. The idea caused her to shudder, involuntarily rubbing against him. Cutler closed his eyes, his body reacting to Claire. He had been hard from the moment they exited the carriage, but now, with the actual consummation so close, his shaft throbbed, threatening to split his pants open.

"Why did you thank me?"

Cutler pressed his forehead against Claire's. How to explain that he found her charity endearing? That he found her innocence intoxicating? That the anticipation building was the greatest aphrodisiac ever? Should he answer honestly or whisper words that were flowery and trite?

Instead, he retreated slightly and smiled at Claire. Yes, he could certainly get used to having her in his bed. But a proposal would have to wait until a more formal location. Words were inadequate in explaining his gratitude. Anything he said would ruin the moment.

He needed to get Claire back to feeling, not thinking. His lips found hers and Cutler was thrilled when Claire responded enthusiastically. Rolling her on her back, he allowed a hand to drift down by her knees to test her reaction. When no objections were voiced, Cutler began to slowly inch the hem of her chemise up to her thighs. When Claire began to squirm in apprehension, Cutler thrust his tongue into her mouth, silencing any objections she might utter. His fingers traced circles, dancing close to, then away from, the dark curls that hid her center. When he finally parted her legs and slipped his fingers the dark hair that shielded her secrets, Claire made a sound in the back of her throat and Cutler growled in response. After a few moments, she shattered beneath his hand. Watching her face contort, then relax nearly caused Cutler to orgasm himself. He had to get out of his pants and into Claire.

Cutler slipped off the bed and kicked his boots off with complete disregard for the fine Italian leather. Never breaking eye contact with Claire, he unfastened his pants and slid them, along with his undergarments, off of his legs. Once naked, he commanded, "Lay back against the pillows," before edging back up onto the bed, skulking on hands and knees as if he stalked prey.

Claire settled back against the pillows and watched as Cutler climbed onto the bed, rising up above her. With the firelight behind him, Cutler was in complete silhouette, save for his golden brown hair which glowed as a red halo around his head. As he settled on top of her, Claire felt the hardness between his legs nudging against her folds. Feeling her mouth go dry, Claire went rigid, not knowing what to say, much less what to do.

But suddenly there was a thunderous noise coming up the stairs, followed by the antechamber door being slammed open. Claire scrambled to cover herself as she looked at Cutler in confusion and horror. The only people who were aware that she had left with Cutler were her parents, but there was no way they had left the party yet. She was unsure if she should be grateful or more concerned when Cutler looked equally panicked.

But there was no time to question one another, or to redress. The pocket doors rattled, then broke free when delivered a forceful kick.

"Take your hands off my sister!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

* * *

Claire wrapped her cloak as tightly around her as possible in an attempt to keep the damp from creeping in under her collar, sending clammy fingers down her spine. Exhaustion tugged at her, begging her to slumber, but Claire knew that sleep would prove to be elusive for some time to come. This morning, on a field of honor, one of the men she cared for would be wounded at best. 

And at worst, dead. 

Her brother and Cutler had shouted at one another nearly all night, until it was decided that a duel, to avenge Claire's honor, was necessary. William was in such a rage that even Claire's full confession of why she was in Cutler's bedroom fell on deaf ears. Afraid of what her brother would do if she refused to leave with him, Claire allowed herself to be shoved into William's coach, much to her – and Cutler's – dismay. 

Just two or so hours later it was not yet dawn, although it was fast approaching, but it was still as dark as it was when William had whisked her away from Cutler's townhome. No hint of pink etched the night sky and fog swirled around Claire and her mount. Barely able to see her horse's ears before her, Claire allowed her steed to plod along at its own pace despite the fact that time was not on her side. But she was almost at the field. Mist hugged the land, a nearly tangible weight pressing down upon them, and it would not do for her horse to break its leg or tumble Claire to the ground if she pressed the animal to go faster. 

Voices carried through the air, bouncing all about in the mist, causing Claire to momentarily become confused and disoriented. Because of the fog, the direction of the voices was difficult to ascertain. But after squinting into the mist, Claire was able to see the silhouettes of two men on horseback were about fifty feet to her left. Not wanting to be spotted, she veered her horse to the right, knowing that the wooded area that fringed the field would provide ample cover. 

Quickly dismounting, Claire tethered the horse to a low branch, allowing the animal to graze. Leaning in against the warmth of her steed one last time, Claire made sure that her movements were slow, but efficient, as she edged closer to the men. She did not want to be noticed and sent home.

It would seem that there had not been a change of heart, with the duel being canceled, and Claire wanted to hear what the men had to say. Taking refuge behind a fallen tree, Claire bit her tongue when she sat upon the cold, damp ground but found the rough bark to be a nice contrast with the soothing fabric of her cloak. It would not do to become too comfortable at such a horrible time.

From her vantage point, Claire recognized that Cutler was one of the two men. The other was not her brother. Rather it was the man was Cutler's valet, the man he called Mercer. He had to be acting as Cutler's second. Urgency tinged every step Mercer took as he paced circles around their horses. And Cutler. 

Cutler. After last night, Claire knew that she should be taking her brother's side – after all, he did come riding to her rescue. But because Cutler had been so considerate, what transpired did not feel like payment for a debt. In fact, Claire felt like she was on fire the entire coach ride home, remaining unfulfilled and longing for some kind of closure. If anything, Claire felt cheated out of what was supposed to take place. And while she knew it was a completely inappropriate thought, Claire wanted nothing more than to pick up where she and Cutler left off after the silliness of the duel was over. 

Claire's heart broke at the idea of either one of the men in her life hurting the other, but knew that if she tried to interrupt the proceedings, that it would be construed as meddling – and the duel would take place, even if it was at a later date, no matter what. But there was no way that she would sit at home and wait for the results of the duel to come to her. Claire needed to be on hand to know… and to help, if need be. 

Besides, they would not try to kill one another, just fight until one drew blood on the other. Then, things would be put to right and it would be as it was before. 

The frustration and concern in Mercer's voice carried through the clammy air to Claire's ears as if he was standing right next to her. "Lord Beckett, 'tis utter lunacy. There is no way that either of you will be able to see the other through this fog and, to be quite 'onest, there is no need for such actions. She went to your bed willin'ly!"

Mercer was right – this was utter lunacy. He and William had been friends all their lives and suddenly the friendship had dissolved. A quiet chuckle was Cutler's immediate response, then he softly replied, "Mercer, who am I to tell a man that he cannot fight for his sister's honor? Besides, this is the first sign of gumption in William that I have ever seen. Who am I to squash his new found sense of initiative?" While there was a note of wistfulness in Cutler's voice, there was also a hint of pride. 

"Is 'e gettin' the surgeon?"

Cutler sighed, then took a long look up the road, seeing nothing. This was the least organized duel he had ever been to, let alone participated in. "Of course not. Said that we did not need one. That I would be dead by daybreak and having a doctor here would be extraneous. However, I did pound on the door of several on the way here this morning and finally got one to agree. But let me tell you, it took nigh on forever to find someone willing to come out on a morning such as this who was sober." Cutler bent his head, as if contemplating what he was going to say next. After biting his lip a moment, he turned to his second. "The time?"

Mercer removed a watch from his vest pocket. "'Tis just 'alf past five." He clicked the casing closed and slipped it back into his garment. "Thinkin' 'e will not show?"

Looking at the sky, Cutler clasped his hands behind his back and walked a distance, silent. He then turned around and made his way back to his second. Smiling ruefully, Cutler shook his head. "No. The doctor will show. And so will William. For Claire's honor, he shall appear. Just on his own time." Pursing his lips in thought, Cutler amended, "If he does not show, then he is a bigger coward than I thought possible. And that knowledge will make Claire's contract all the more heartbreaking."

Not knowing if he should venture into that territory, Mercer held his breath a moment and then asked, his voiced hushed, "Will you keep 'er to the contract?"

Shaking his head in the negative once again, Cutler unsheathed his sword and began to cut at the air in an attempt to loosen up his shoulder for the duel that he hoped would not take place. "I would be the most heartless man in the world to attempt to engage Claire in relations after last night's fiasco," he pushed out between slash arcs. "No, I shall make William pay me back – either through a pound of coin or a pound of flesh. Matters not to me as long as Claire remains out of the matter from now on. She may be the younger sister, but dear William needs to grow up." 

Mercer nodded his head, then resumed his pacing. The older man walked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Whatever the outcome of the match, Mercer knew that he would do anything for the man he found to be as ruthless and driven as he, himself, was. But one thing was bothering him… "Lord Beckett?"

"Yes?" Cutler rested the point of his sword on the ground, bracing his weight on the grip, and waited for Mercer to ask his question. From the dark look that washed over his second's face, Cutler knew something was weighing heavy on the man.

"Do you… do you plan on killin' him?"

Ah, so that was the crux of his concern. Unsure of whether he should be grateful or irritated, Cutler chuckled and shook his head. Being challenged to a duel by his best friend had left him in a conundrum. Cutler had fought many a duel, with mixed results. Some men had died. Some had been merely wounded. But all fights had taken place with William as his second. And in all fights, Cutler had come out the victor. But so had William when he had fought his duels, with Cutler acting as his second. It promised to be an evenly matched fight.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, because I was thinkin'. If you kill the whelp, the Russell family 'as some clout 'ere in London. And since duels are frowned upon, as it were, we might 'ave to 'igh-tail it out of England so you do not get 'anged. I was thinkin' that if we do need to leave, because there will be no way 'e shall best you, that we should go someplace warmer. East India is lookin' to make a stronghold in the Caribbean. I was thinking' that it might be a nice change of place to go someplace warm."

Mercer was clever, Cutler had to give him that. And resourceful. If they had to get out of London quickly, Cutler had no doubt that Mercer could get them on their way to the Caribbean by nightfall – or before. "The same thoughts have tumbled through my head, Mercer, rest assured." Although Cutler had no desire to leave London. Not with the sophistication the town offered versus the humble accommodations the Caribbean would provide. 

"I 'ave no idea 'ow it came to this," Mercer muttered, almost to himself, as he began his pacing once again.

Sighing, Cutler suddenly wanted to throttle his second. Mercer proved to be an invaluable employee – convincing him to leave the employ of the East India Trading Company as a clerk and work for Cutler directly had proved to surprisingly easy – but Mercer did not know the ritual he preferred before a duel… the calming words to utter and the positive phrasing he needed to hear. Not the way William did. _Best forget the man for there will be no going back._ "I can. Family roots run deep. William adores his sister, even if he takes full advantage of her."

"Advantage?" Mercer's eyes went wide with outrage as he stopped dead in his tracks. Even those without scruples had their limits.

An exasperated sigh skated past Cutler's lips. "Not like that Mercer. Their adoration is mutual. Claire gives. William takes. The balance of justice is not in her favor. I hope to reconcile that today. So does William. Just for different reasons."

"I just want to go on the record that I dislike the 'ole of this, Lord Beckett."

Cutler's features gave away nothing, but he silently agreed. He felt at fault, saying what he did to Claire that day in his library, but what was done, was done. A small headache was starting to form behind his eyes. William was late and the extra sleep would have been greatly appreciated. _Bloody Hell, any sleep at all would have been appreciated!_ Cutler would give him fifteen more minutes before calling it forfeit. 

Mercer cupped a hand to his ear. "I… I think I hear them… Or someone."

Quietly, the pounding of hooves carried in the air. Both men turned in the direction of the sound, waiting for the men to appear. Cutler hated these moments, anticipating the confrontation between himself and his adversary. Usually, it was he who rode in late in an attempt to specifically avoid the very feelings that were coursing through him. 

Finally, the figures of three men on horseback rose out of the mist, silhouettes against a white curtain. After a few moments, Cutler was able to recognize the surgeon he had requested, along with William and another man Cutler did not recognize. All seemed to be amused by a mutual joke as they stopped in front of Cutler and Mercer. Once their collective stare landed on Cutler, their laughter ceased.

Cutler narrowed his eyes in annoyance. The doctor was at the duel at Cutler's request and yet William had commandeered the man as a member of his team – or so it would seem. Not caring that his voice was acid, Cutler sliced at the air as he windmilled his arm around to keep his arm loose. "So nice of you to show up. Finally."

"Had some things to tend to first. I apologize if I kept you waiting too long." William laughed as he slid off his horse, giving the reigns to his second who quickly followed suit. The surgeon Cutler retained stayed in the saddle and moved off to the side, as if suddenly realizing that he was the impartial party. 

Stilling his arm movements, Cutler walked over to William and sheathed his sword. Biting back a retort, he forced himself to smile pleasantly. "Shall we get down to business? I have other things I wish to do today."

William tossed a smirk over his shoulder towards his second, before acknowledging Cutler. The condescending tone in his voice was nearly palpable. "I think that is a splendid idea. Despite the early hour, I feel a little... peckish. After this is done, I think I shall find a bakery and get some breakfast. Maybe a scone and some tea... But I opted again eating prior to my arrival as I did not want to feel sluggish with a full stomach, you know."

Mercer smoothly stepped in before Cutler said something rude to antagonize William. "Then let your second and myself compare weapons and then 'e and I will allow the duel to commence. What say you, Master Russell?"

Handing over his sword, William nodded his head. "Sounds like a splendid idea. But hurry it up, this talk of food has sped up my appetite."

The seconds walked off to the middle of the field with the swords. First, they compared the lengths to make sure there was no advantage. Then, they measured out an area for the men to fight, taking into consideration the reach of their arms, plus the length of the weapons. Once both were satisfied, the swords were thrust into the ground, marking the spot where each man should stand.

Once the seconds came back, Mercer stepped forward at the nodding encouragement of William's second. "If it would please you both, I must take the time to ask if this disagreement cannot be solved without the spillin' of blood?"

"He tried to violate my sister! He is lucky that I did not gut him in his own home!"

Mercer threw a look over his shoulder, to which the other man shrugged. Swallowing hard, Mercer turned back to the combatants and nodded his head. "Seein' that there is no room for reason, it was agreed that I would drop the handkerchief, signalin' the start of the duel. Unless the good doctor would like to step in for that purpose?"

All eyes were on the doctor, who seemed to recoil slightly under the weight of their collective gazes. He put and hand up in protest and shook his head in the negative. "I thank you for the consideration, but I want no part of this barbaric event. I am only here to prevent any injuries that might not be life-threatening from becoming so, if I can. Please, continue on as you were."

Rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Mercer commanded, "Alright. Stations, gentlemen." The four men trudged to the center of the field, the dew clinging to the grass darkening the leather of their boots. It seemed strange, taking the steps that would somehow satisfy William's – nay, Claire's – honor when it was William he was fighting. Cutler had walked these steps before, on the very same field, but never before did he feel the magnitude of the impending consequences of his actions. His feet felt leaden as he took the last few steps to the arena where he and William would soon learn their fate.

Once William and Cutler stood before their inverted swords, Mercer coughed into his hand, clearing his throat, then said, "As you agreed, fighting will commence at my signal. Now, are you ready, gentlemen?"

Cutler's heart sped up. He stared at William, his form hazy in the white fog. His opponent looked nervous, which boded well for Cutler. Having acted as second to William in the past, Cutler knew that a case of the nerves caused William to make a strong opening move, eventually causing him to tire sooner than he should. However, in just moments, he would be fighting his best friend, someone Cutler considered closer to him than a brother. But if William had only kept better track of his gambling debts, then Claire never would have put herself at Cutler's mercy. However, Cutler knew he should have been a better man and refused her.

Both men silently nodded their consent.

Mercer glanced at his employer with a calculated eye. As much as he wished Lord Beckett to be removed from the fight, there was no doubt that as his servant, Mercer would do anything to make sure the outcome was in their favor. "Ready!" Mercer called, his white handkerchief raised high above his head. "Present!"

The men removed their swords from the earth and took their positions. A breeze tugged at the mist, swirling some of the fog away and opening up the field so that the men could see each other better. The gentle wind was a welcome respite, despite the chilly morning temperature. Even though nary a swing had been made, the building anticipation caused a light sheen to gloss each combatant's face. 

A flutter of white as Mercer opened his fingers and the handkerchief glided to the ground. 

As Cutler correctly surmised, William went with a strong offense and immediately rushed his opponent. With a low growl, William pulled his sword and advanced, forcing Cutler to circle away. Cutler's steps took a wide arc, his sword pointed at William's throat as he kept a full body length between the two of them. Reminding himself to keep his hand and arm relaxed, Cutler took notice that William held his sword much higher than was necessary – something that would quickly exhaust him. 

"To first blood then?" Cutler asked, his tone indifferent.

William sneered. "You think that I would let you get off so easy? To the death!"

"There is no need to display poor manners. But 'twill be your death then. For I refuse to die by the hand of an inferior swordsman. However, I implore you to stop this foolishness now so that we might be able to come to terms in a more civilized manor."

"Scared? Is that why you wish to call off this duel? Because you are a coward?"

"No, because we were friends for far to long for our friendship to end on a field of honor. Or so I thought. Apparently, I was wrong about you. Pity…"

Cutler had acted as second to his friend in the past and knew how to goad his foe, as well as knowing William's invariable tricks of aiming at his foe's lower extremities. When Cutler successfully parried William's attempts, his confidence grew and a smile curved his lips. Especially when he nicked William's arm.

The two men circle around each other carefully, their swords shining in the fog despite the overcast sky. Each carefully observed the other, trying to find an opening in which to attack. Finally, William could not hold back any longer and rushed forward. Their swords clashed together and the sounds of the men grunting from the sheer physical exertion being put forth echoed through the fog, occasionally pierced by the ringing of steel. 

Their movements were like that of a dance – the two men kept in constant motion, circling around one another, occasionally coming together to parry, block, parry, retreat, then circle once again. Neither one spoke to the other, for sweat dripped from both men as each sought the other's weakness. If Cutler feigned to one side then hopped to the other, William countered by half swinging at Cutler, before pivoting and forcing his opponent to shift and dance away. 

But out of nowhere, William struck out, making contact. The blade hit Cutler's shoulder and it took every ounce of energy not to give in to the pain. Cutler did allow himself to trip backwards, his momentum thrown by the steel cutting into his flesh, but also to gain some distance between him and William. Let the boy think he was winning. Cutler just needed a moment to collect his wits and to mentally squelch the sharp pain radiating down the length of his arm.

Grimacing in pain, Cutler ignored the wound and fought on. And while the injury did restrict Cutler's range of movement, he refused to fight combination strikes and instead kept William to a series of single thrusts in order to spare his injured shoulder. When he was able, Cutler retreated back in order to give William a false sense of security. 

The ground was slick with Cutler's blood, so both men were extra cautious as they circled each other once again. Then with a simultaneous shout, their swords clashed once again as they came together. Cutler thought hard about how to fall William without causing a fatal blow, but once again steel slid against steel and the two men stared at one another, their faces just inches away from the other, as their blades locked. With a grunt, Cutler pushed at William with all his might. The man stumbled and, try as he might, William was unable to maintain his balance on the slick turf. As he crashed to the earth, his sword got caught underneath him. Gravity pulled his weight down upon his blade, the steel piercing the tender softness of his belly. 

Cutler dropped his sword and ran over to his fallen former friend, not caring if William took a swing at him. As Cutler fell to his knees beside the man, he was faintly aware of the doctor pushing him out of the way. Silently, Cutler watched as the surgeon rolled William onto his side, who began to frantically push himself upright. Sensing what William wanted, Cutler scooted around behind him, careful to avoid his injury from which the sword still lodged, and helped the man to his feet. 

William leaned heavily on Cutler, whispering something in his ear that brought a smile to Cutler's lips, but not to his eyes. William then waived Cutler off, wanting to stand on his own. He swayed for a few moments before gaining a sense of balance. Looking down at the sword puncturing his midsection, William wet his lips and then carefully grabbed the blade. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the weapon free, a smile of relief curving his lips. But, suddenly, William's face crumpled and he released a cry of anguish. 

Claire's scream echoed in the clearing as her brother fell to the ground, dead. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all, save for my own original characters.

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**A/N: ** I have been completely remiss in not thanking you all for taking the time out of your day to read my story. And thank you for the kind reviews. 

After all the action in the previous chapters, a quieter pace in this one. In fact, minimal dialogue, at best. 

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It had been a month since William's funeral and each day since was a foggy haze of detached politeness. There was some irony that Claire moved about in the same cloud that pressed down on the field her brother died upon, whether the mist was her imagination or not. Her limbs felt as if they were separate entities, moving of their own free will, and Claire felt off-balance… and sluggish. Despite hours upon hours of sleep, she never felt rested.

So Claire had spent the majority of her days following the duel locked away in her bedroom. Her seclusion went beyond heavy mourning; Claire went into hiding. Her parents had begged her to explain what took place between Cutler and William, between their son and the man they loved like a son, but Claire refused to speak of the events that transpired, preferring to cloister herself away in an attempt to pretend that everything was fine.

Maybe if she pretended that everything was fine, then it would become so. Maybe if she pretended that her brother was away on a holiday, she would wake up from this terrible nightmare. Maybe if she pretended that Cutler was away on business, he would come back to her soon. Maybe if Claire pretended that everything was fine, God would answer her prayers.

But it was not fine. In fact, it was far from it. 

Cutler was gone. And was not to be coming back for quite some time. He had left London by sundown with nary a word to Claire. When she had come scurrying across the field, dropping to her knees beside her fallen brother, Cutler looked at her in complete horror. Then, without a word, Cutler and Mercer had retreated to their horses, mounted, then rode away. Too concerned about her sibling to notice Cutler's departure except to cast a glance at his retreating back, Claire had spent many hours later wondering what she had done wrong. Because he not only ran away from the field, but from Claire. 

Apparently Cutler had ridden directly to his office where he had put in a request, which was immediately granted, to be transferred within the East India Trading Company to a locale as far away as possible. Through gossip, mostly whispered to Claire by friends seeking an audience with her, she heard that he was now acting governor of the new office in Port Royal, Jamaica. He certainly had wasted no time in putting as much distance between himself and London as possible.

And William was gone. The hole in Claire's heart was gaping and raw, aching from her brother's absence in her life. As she knelt beside his fallen form, the ground wet with dew and blood, she knew that he was dead, but held his hand to her heart for what seemed like hours. William's second, his coachman, had to pry Claire's fingers open and pull her away so that the surgeon could declare William Russell deceased. 

The days that followed were a blur. The world around Claire sped up to an obscenely fast past while she seemed to move in reverse. William's fiancée, Suzanna, was told almost immediately and she took the news harder than everyone anticipated. Everyone had presumed that the couple was marrying because of their similar stations, but the color blanched from her features and Suzanna then passed out, taking to bed for two whole days. At the funeral, Suzanna had been inconsolable, quietly sobbing at the gravesite and staying long past everyone's departure, including Claire's.

Which was not to say that Claire was not equally devastated. As much as she wanted to comfort the woman who should have been her future sister, Claire was not able to reach out to Suzanna. Claire wanted to seek solace with the woman her brother wanted to marry. To cry over shared remembrances. To laugh over new stories as they were learned. To have some warmth in her life amid all the cold. But Claire left Suzanna adrift, refusing to comfort the woman she knew only peripherally because the truth of the matter was… Claire did not know how to comfort when her insides felt like they were completely, and utterly, shattered. 

Would she, could she, ever feel whole again? 

Claire completely withdrew into herself, no longer allowing herself to feel any emotion. Or she tried to cut off her emoShe cut herself off from those around her, retreating into the cocoon of her bedroom, wanting to shut out reality until she could better make sense of it. Although she often wondered if there would be a time when she would be able to make any sense out of what happened. 

So Claire retreated to her room, only stepping out to take her meals, and even that was sporadic. Claire usually spent her days sitting by her bedroom window, her nose deep in a book, getting swept away into another world. She had to find a reality other than her own to slip into or else she would go mad.

Although Claire had given the thought some merit. Locked away as she was, did that mean she was slowly going insane? Or was she already crazy and because of that, did not know if she was or not? And if she was indeed mad, how long would her parents support Claire in her current condition before turning her over to an asylum? But, really, did it matter where she ended up? Without her brother or Cutler, Claire felt completely bereft of hope.

The fact that Claire felt Cutler's absence so acutely surprised her. She should have been angry with Cutler for what he wanted her to do that night, for what he had done to her on their previous excursions. Instead, she missed the feel of his touch upon her skin, his lips upon hers, his weight pinning her down…

Every day the same thoughts swirled through her head, much to Claire's dismay. She knew that if they had actually consummated their relationship that he would have completely abandoned her. But he did regardless. She was willing to do as he wished and it still was not good enough. Cutler did not think her good enough. Cutler did not care enough about her to even say goodbye. She understood his departure – dueling was a hanging offense – but he left without a word. And as much as her heart ached for him, so did the rest of her. 

Did she love him? As the thoughts swirled through her head, so did the question. There was no doubt that Claire felt a strong affection for Cutler. Or she did. After all, she grew up with the man. But as a man, and not as a surrogate brother, there was something more. Something more base. But women were not supposed to have such carnal thoughts… were they? 

But it went beyond that. Claire did not desire other men besides Cutler, nor had she before he fell back into her life. Did she love him? Is that why her heart ached so badly? Or was it something close, but not quite, that caused her to feel the way she did? But how could she, after everything that happened? 

Sitting in her chair, one leg folded beneath her, Claire sat before her bedroom window, wondering if she could ever pull her life back to where it once was. For it seemed, to her, that no longer was she living her life, but, in fact, her life had become its own entity and Claire was but helpless to watch as it ran away from her.

A soft knock at the door intruded into her musings. After a moment, Claire's mother ducked her head in. The death of her son had taken its toll on the woman, but it was her daughter's bereavement that wore her out beyond her endurance. 

"A letter for you, Claire. It came in today's post."

Claire absently nodded her head in acknowledgment, then raised her chin to meet her mother's gaze. The poor woman looked so gaunt and appeared to be just a whisper of her former self. Claire knew the death of her brother had taken its toll on her parents just as much as it had on her, but felt powerless to comfort her mother. Swallowing hard, Claire forced a smile to her lips and extracted herself from her chair. Crossing the room, Claire extended her hand. "Thank you, Mother."

Claire's mother lingered the doorway, a sad smile twisting her lips, and looked as if she wanted to say something else. After a moment, Elaine Russell decided better of it and withdrew from Claire's room, shutting the door with a faint click behind her. 

Her finger trailing over the neatly written script on the front of the envelope, Claire faintly wondered if she should bother opening the missive or discard it in the fire. Pursing her lips into a grimace, she crossed the room and sat down before the fireplace, determined to burn the letter if it was another condolence about the passing of her brother. Sliding her finger underneath the envelope flap, Claire sat down on a stool before her hearth. Sliding the pages from the sachet, Claire read…

_My Dearest Claire,_

_I write this letter with much trepidation. What must be going through your head right now, reading this? The gall I must have, right? The impudence? The nerve? I agree with all of that – and more. What you must think of me after everything that has happened… Believe me, I have thought it all myself. And worse. _

_Now, I am sure that this letter comes to you as a complete surprise and it is my sincere hope that you would please read through to the end of the letter before you tear it to shreds or burn it in your fireplace. As you may have noticed by now, I am no longer in London. In fact, I write this aboard a vessel making its way to Jamaica where I will take control of the fledgling operations of the East India Trading Company in that part of the world and, hopefully, squelch pirate activities that are cutting into the profits of the company in the Caribbean waters._

_In light of everything that transpired, I felt it best to leave town as quickly as possible, with minimal commotion. I did this not out of guilt – although I feel plenty of that, as the outcome of the duel was not as I had hoped – but to shield you from any allegations that you might have had to shoulder by my continued presence. This is not how I wanted us to part, for I did not want us to part at all, but it is for the best. _

_I have hurt you beyond imagination. I know this, so there is no sense ignoring the fact. However, to say that it was never my intent makes my words of apology sound trite. I hope you know that I would never intentionally wound you. And, in hindsight, that was a poor choice of words. It seems that I shall spend the remainder of my life being sorry for hurts I have caused you. _

_I know my departure was rather abrupt. But I was never one for goodbyes. I hope, I sincerely hope, that one day our paths will cross again. But since I am not the man that you need, I hope, I sincerely hope, that my departure allows you to move forward with your life, crossing paths with a man who will be more for you than I ever could have been – or be. But always know that I hold you in the highest regard and that you had nothing to do with my expedited departure of England – and everything to do with it. I could not live with myself if my continued presence caused harm to your reputation. _

_You are correct in thinking that it ironic that I left to protect your reputation when our verbal contract allowed me to harm your standing in society. I want you to know that I never expected you to consent to our agreement that I proposed in my library that day and, instead, expected a slap across the face. When you acquiesced, my heart stopped. And it seemed that my life began._

_Poetic words, but in truth, I think they are very apt. In fact, every time I was near you, you set my blood aflame. I took liberties against you, even before our agreement, that I should never have attempted. And yet, I was helpless to sample the taste of nectar from your lips. And each time you let me, I pushed for more, waiting for you to protest – and yet, you always yielded. You never once stopped me. Where you afraid? Were you shocked? Or were you just as curious as I to what we could experience?_

_I will confide in you a male secret that every maid presumes, but is never quite sure of… Men are scoundrels who only want to lift a lady's skirt. I would be remiss to exclude myself from that category. But you caused me to take chances that I never would have considered with anyone else that I held in such high regard. _

_I know not what our future held, but I want you to know that I had no intention of setting you aside. In fact, I was strongly hoping for the exact reverse of such actions. Your brother told me to settle down, find a wife. At first, I thought it was convenient that my path crossed yours after so long an absence. Then I realized that it was fateful. You have grown into a beautiful woman Claire. Any man would be happy to call you his own. Not in spite of, but rather because of, what you offered to me, I planned on keeping you by my side for as long as you would have me. _

_And now, despite my immediate disappointment, I glad that things did not come to pass and we had agreed upon in our bargain. Your virtue is intact and now you should have nothing but a most promising future. I have been told that things happen for a reason, despite us not always knowing what the reason is at the time. I do not know how your brother found out. I do not know how your brother managed to get the sword beneath him as he fell. I do not know why you agreed to my ridiculous suggestion. I do not know why I care so much about how you feel about me._

_But I do._

_I know you will never forgive me. And I have made my peace with that – because you should not. My best friend was irrevocably hurt by my actions towards his sister and then felled on a field of so-called honor that I never wished to see take place. But if the roles were reversed, I cannot say that I would not do the same as William and call the man out who wished to sully my sister. _

_Which is not to say that I did not have every intention of winning the duel, but only to first blood. Please believe that. But with William now gone, there is no way I can stay in England. _

_I do wish you the best. Of anyone I know, I know of no one who deserves more. I will think of you fondly for the rest of my days. And maybe, after the passage of time, you will find it your heart to no longer hate me. _

_Your Humble Servant,_

_C. Beckett_

Claire folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope, then leaned forward and let the flames lick at the paper before releasing the missive to the fire. She then stood and vacated her room, suddenly feeling the need to get some fresh air. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all save for my own original characters.

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**A/N:** Thank you for your patience. This chapter took so much longer than I had anticipated. I hope I nailed a certain character that I have not written about before.

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"I am most sorry sir, but she is not receiving visitors!"

"But I have a need to see Miss Claire Russell!"

Claire furrowed her brow and set down her book. The voices were muffled through her bedroom door, but Claire was certain she heard male voices talking downstairs and thought she heard her name spoken. Getting up from her chair, she crossed the room and pressed her ear against the door.

"No, a resolute and unyielding need."

The voice was foreign to Claire, but that did not mean she was not acquainted with the person; it just meant that the man in question was someone she had met in passing, had met peripherally. But after Cutler's letter, Claire had made a decision to come out of her room and be a part of the world again. Even if it meant dealing with people she barely knew – and who barely knew William – offering their condolences.

Taking a deep breath, Claire opened the door and ducked her head out in the hopes of hearing what was being said. Silence echoed back at her. It would seem that the men's arguing was at a standstill. Frowning slightly, she took a step into the hallway and looked over the banister railing below. Looking up at her from the vestibule was Noah, valet to Claire's father. And because of the ceiling and wall angles, the unexpected guest was only visible from the knees down.

Grasping the balustrade, Claire leaned forward and asked, "And who is he wanting to see, Noah?"

Noah's face contorted into a nervous smile. It was a known fact that Miss Russell was now eating her meals with her parents, but she still spent the majority of her day behind the closed door of her bedroom. If she sent the visitor away, it would be an awkward situation because the man now knew she was in the house. "Why, you miss!"

Claire paused a moment, then nodded her head. "Show him to the parlor. I shall be there in a moment." She then turned away, a whirl of skirts, and went back into her bedroom to freshen up.

Before shutting the door, Claire heard Noah sigh, then say politely. "If you would, please follow me, sir."

"I knew you'd warm up to me eventually, mate." The cheekiness in the visitor's voice brought a smile to Claire's lip as her bedroom door shut with a soft click.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Claire stood in the doorway of the parlor for a moment, her shoulder braced against the frame as she leaned her weight against the wall, her arms folded across her chest in a most unladylike manner. Silently observing the man, Claire was grateful that his back was turned to her so she could study him for a moment.

His long frockcoat was battered and dull, falling past the tops of his sea boots, typical of a man who made his living on the sea. Long, dark hair spilled well past his shoulders, flowing freely and occasionally decorated with a twisted strand, topped with a faded red bandana and well-worn tricorne hat. Despite not being able to see his facial features, Claire was able to ascertain that she had never before had she ever laid eyes on the man just from his manner of dress. She would have remembered him. So she had to wonder what the nature of his visit entailed.

He was deeply engrossed in the studying of objects on the fireplace mantle and while Claire could not be certain, it looked as if he had just placed something in his pocket as he was withdrawing his hand from the garment very slowly, possibly trying to be inconspicuous. Claire's eyes narrowed in concern, wondering what he might have palmed.

"Do you plan on continuing to stare at me back all day, Miss Russell? Because I can assure you, me front is much more impressive."

Claire swallowed hard. Then embarrassment washed over her and she entered the room. "I am so sorry. It has been some time since I received a visitor. I apologize for my manners, or lack thereof. And I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mister…?"

"Captain!" he corrected, finally turning around to face Claire.

And both fell silent as they regarded one another.

Before Claire stood the most striking man she had ever seen.

Dark black eyes that sparkled like obsidian in sunlight bore right into Claire, making her feel extremely vulnerable. Kohl rimmed his eyes, giving him a decidedly exotic air and causing Claire to wonder if it was to help reflect the sun or to make himself look more mysterious. Even if the latter was not the case, Claire found her visitor to be quietly exciting. He stared at her with frank curiosity, almost childlike, his intelligence highly apparent despite his inane demeanor.

A goatee encircled his mouth, braided into two points and decorated with colorful beads. A wound, angry and red, was buried in his facial hair along the right side of his jaw. When he smiled, a few gold-capped teeth winked in the sunlight and his right hand wafted through the air, as if an entity all its own.

Realizing that she was staring, Claire felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment and ducked her head. Apparently her manners had completely disappeared after having been cosseted away for so long. But with his dancing dark eyes, golden bronze skin and unusual apparel – for he was dressed unlike any man she had ever seen despite his common garb – Claire felt an excitement surging through her that was foreign… and exhilarating. While Cutler made her blood surge with each bit of new found knowledge, this man before her made her feel extremely sheltered and young. No longer did she feel like a sophisticated English maid when standing near this well-travelled man. In fact, a whole world just opened up before Claire and she felt as if she were dancing along the edge of an adventure that she did not even realize existed until that very moment.

"Excuse me… Captain." Claire amended before taking a deep breath and stepping deeper into the room, a nervous smile curving her lips as she waited for him to finish his introduction. When none was forthcoming, she prompted, "Captain…?"

Blinking several times as if he suddenly realized someone was talking to him, the man looked around the room in confusion before mirroring Claire's actions, smiling at her in return and stepping closer to her. "That be me title, luv. Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow. If you please." He then doffed his tricorn hat and took a small bow, smiling up at her as if he had done something clever.

Not quite knowing what to make of her new companion, Claire tried not to gawk at his dreadlocked hair – ornamented with various beads and charms, even some string and bone… and a coin – that spilled over a red bandana and onto his forehead, and instead focused on the bit of lace that decorated his wrist. "Well, you seem 

to know who I am, Captain Jack Sparrow. So I seem to be at somewhat of a disadvantage. But before I ask what brings you by here today, may I get you something to drink?"

Straightening his back, Jack looked hopeful. "Rum?"

Her brow instantly furrowing in disapproval, Claire had to remind herself that the captain was a guest and was allowed to take complete advantage of their hospitality. Despite the fact that it was still morning. "I… I think that we happen to be out, but let me check." Walking over to the liquor cabinet, Claire moved aside several bottles looking for the amber inebriant, but only saw a forest of port, scotch, brandy and wine bottles. Turning back to Jack, she shook her head in the negative. "We are out of rum, it would seem. I am terribly sorry. May I get you something else?"

The look of dejection on his face alarmed Claire. "Why is there never any rum?" he muttered to himself, then visibly brightened. "No worries, darling. Clear heads and all that, darling. Now, where were we?"

Completely confused, Claire nodded towards the settee. "Well, we were getting to the nature of your visit. So please, have a seat."

Once her visitor was ensconced on the sofa, Claire took a seat in the chair nearest the man. Unable to make eye contact with the captain, Claire instead stared at the man's hands which were clasped around his knee, the one bent across the other, and encrusted with rings that were unlike any she had ever seen and had bits of fabric tied across the palms. Finding the jewelry somewhat disquieting, she found herself trying to look anywhere but his hands.

And found herself even more alarmed when her gaze traveled up to the front of his nondescript drop-front trousers.

_Stop acting like a trollop! It matters not how attractive you find him, he is obviously a foul seadog and you would be wise to remember your station._

Trying to regain control of herself and the situation, Claire drew her eyes back up to his face, hoping he couldn't see the panic she felt, and plastered a serene smile on her face. "And what brings you by here today, Captain. Jack. Sparrow?" She paused between words because the name seemed vaguely familiar.

Leaning back against the sofa, Jack rested his arm across the length of the settee back and eyed the woman before him, helpless but to smile. Radiating innocence, Claire looked ripe for the plucking and it took everything in his power not to outrageously flirt with the maid. But this was neither the time nor the place, a fact of which he had to keep reminding himself. Although being alone in the room with her was quietly exhilarating. "Actually, yer recently reposed relation of a brother saved me 'ide once. Put 'imself on the line when 'e certainly 'ad no need of doing so. And when no one else would, let me tell you. So I 'ave come to set things to right."

Claire's left brow arched and she leaned forward, helplessly drawn to the man. She was but a moth to the flame of his personality. Resting her elbows on her knees, Claire unknowingly revealed a bounty of décolleté. Almost instantly, she felt like she had known the captain for years, so she forgot her proper manners. Besides, this man knew her brother? "How so? I must admit that I am dreadfully…" Claire winced at the word and inadvertently looked at the man's hair before continuing, "confused. But also intrigued. Please clarify."

Jack mimicked her actions, leaning forward, and whispering. "I would rather you try to… persuade me." _Oh bugger! Not supposed to try to bed the bloody wench, Jack. _

Shocked at what he had just suggested, Claire drew back in slight horror until she saw the merriment dancing in his eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then she realized that everything the man said was contrary to what he actually meant. And Claire wrinkled her brow in mild bemusement as she countered, "And since I know you will tell me without me having to do so, for you would not have come here otherwise, I suggest that you please clarify how your presence will set things to right considering my brother died on a field of so-called honor almost two months ago."

So she was not quite as innocent as she appeared… Jack leaned back against the settee and suddenly became very interested in what lay beneath his fingernails. "Miss Russell, I was sent 'ere by your brother to retrieve you and take you where 'e wanted you to go. Savvy?"

Realizing that the more the man spoke, the less she understood, Claire sat up straight and shook her head. "No. I am afraid that I do not understand at all. You are not making sense." Why did she even bother to come down the stairs? This was nearing madness! There were better things Claire could be doing with her time.

Even if he was charismatic.

"Trifles," he said, waving his hand around, as if dismissing her confusion.

Was he already drunk? Is that why he randomly went from rapt attention to obvious distraction? Is that why he requested rum so early in the morning? He was a man who spent a lot of time at sea, under the blazing sun, so maybe the heat had gotten to him. Claire bit the inside of her cheek to temper her temper, but all the confusion she felt burst forth with one word – "What?!"

The exasperation in her tone ruffled Jack's feathers slightly. "Is there a problem between us, Miss Russell?"

_Yes, yes there is._ "No. I just…" _have a headache, thank you very much._ "…am a little confused. So you know my brother?"

His smile was magnetic and warmed Claire to her core, despite her vexation with the man. "Worked for 'im, I did. Back before I was what you might call… unaffiliated."

Unaffiliated? Claire tried to translate what that meant in her head, but found herself with a not-so-small headache instead. But if he worked for William in the past – and no longer was employed by the Company – then he was… unemployed. Unaffiliated. "So you were employed with the East India Trading Company?"

Ah, now the topic of conversation was directed back towards Jack, his favorite subject to discuss. "Once upon a long time ago, luv. Before I become what a certain… Lord in the company called… rouge, I was a privateer who transported cargo on the fastest ship on the seas. It was nigh on uncatchable. Managed to slip capture from every pirate ship sailing the waters. And when me employment was cut short, you brother was the only man in the company willing to show me any compassion. I owed him a huge debt for that… and I always repay me debts. Eventually."

Fastest ship on the seas… Claire vaguely remembered the stories of a man who was able to elude pirates by captaining a ship that was uncatchable. "You… You captained the Wicked Wench," Claire whispered. "I remember hearing about you. You refused to transport slaves–."

"Human beings, luv," he interrupted, clearing enunciating the words. "I refused to condone the trafficking of human beings. And for that, I was condemned as being a pirate for the rest of me days. Me ship was torched, although Beckett," he spit out the word, "would dispute the ownership of said vessel as being 'is. And if not for your brother, I would not be sitting 'ere, speaking with you. 'E saved me life, your benevolent brother did, and I told 'im I was beholden to 'im until I could return the favor. Now I can."

It was nice to know he had morals. And strong ones at that. But what was this rubbish about saving her brother's life? Claire tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but found it impossible. "It is a little late to be doing any saving of my brother, you know. But I am curious, how do you plan on repaying my brother… now that he is gone?"

"By saving your life instead. 'E asked me to give you this upon the event of 'is expiration."

Claire took the envelope Jack pulled out of his jacket with some trepidation. It was not only because the man smelled like he had not bathed in several years, but because apparently there was a side to her brother that she never knew existed.

It was a letter. Addressed to Claire. Dated less than six months ago. Her brow knit together as she unfolded the paper and felt the world open up beneath her.

As she read, Jack explained, "'E planned on taking over operations in Jamaica for the Company. 'E bought a house in Port Royal. Told me where 'e kept the deed to the property and when I found out about 'is unfortunate and untimely demise at the 'ands of Beckett, I came 'ere straightaway."

The paper fell to the floor as disbelief washed over her. "This here is a codicil to his will, bequeathing me with the property and the hopes that I move there. William wrote this with the hopes of keeping me away from Cutler Beckett if anything were to happen to him."

"A smart man, ye brother was. I know of no man more wretched than Cutler Beckett."

It suddenly dawned on Claire that the man sitting next to her had taken his life in his hands to come and see her. "Wait. You are… the… Captain Jack Sparrow? The one that Cutler branded a pirate, correct?"

Jack yanked his right sleeve up to his elbow, exposing his forearm. A tattoo of a sparrow flying before a rising sun and a brand in the shape of the letter "P" marred his golden skin. "Branded yes. But it was I who decided to embrace the title said Lord hoisted upon me shoulders. And let's say that we both left our mark on each other." The smile curving his lips was practically maniacal.

"Pirate!" she whispered, half wanting to touch the raised skin and half wanting to recoil in fear.

A brow quirked in amusement. "What did you think the letter stood for, luv? Perfect? Hardly."

Claire bent to retrieve the letter, suddenly feeling that she had put herself in a precarious position and yet had to wonder if circumstances for Captain Sparrow had been different and he had remained a gentleman privateer, would she feel less fear and more secure? "And… pray tell, what mark did you leave on him?"

"Let's just say, shall we, the aforementioned individual is will not be soon crossing blades with a pirate." He settled back against the couch, looking ever so smug.

And Claire had no idea what he meant. From what she saw of Cutler, there had been no visible marks that had seemed unusual, but she had been a little preoccupied at the time. And rather than ask the pirate to clarify, Claire instead decided to ask another question. After all, the good Captain Sparrow seemed to be so forthcoming. "Did you really sack Nassau without firing a shot?"

Again, talking about himself made Jack very happy. His tone was conspiratorial when he replied, "You forget, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, luv! You don't have a bounty of ten thousand and one Guineas on your head based on rumors, darling."

Claire frowned, a wrinkle forming between her brows. "Actually, I have not forgotten. Especially when you make statements about the price on your head. In fact, I am trying to figure out what a notorious pirate, such as yourself, is doing here in my parlor. I mean, I understand that you are delivering this letter at William's request, but why is it that you are actually here? You knew about the contents of the letter, but you certainly did not need to hand deliver the missive in person. Not with so high a price on your head. You said something about saving my life earlier. What do you mean by that?"

Obviously, the young maid was a little daft, so Jack began to enunciate each word as he replied, "I mean, our dearly departed William wanted you to leave merry ol' England and go to the Caribbean. I can help facilitate your departure."

Shooting him a withering look, Claire understood what William wanted, but she needed to know why. "To get me away from Cutler Beckett?"

"Aye, darling." She was slowly, but surely beginning to understand. Maybe she was not as slow as he first thought.

But when Claire continued, the smile on Jack's face dissipated. "Who just recently took the position that my brother was supposed to have?"

More a statement than a question, Jack Sparrow nonetheless had no retort immediately forthcoming. But after a moment, a smile curved his lips and he brightened considerably. "He took bonny William's position?"

"Yes."

"Well, that puts the situation in a new light."

Claire's smile was devoid of any mirth as her brow arched. "It does?" _This ought to be good._

Nodding his head emphatically, Jack launched himself from the settee and marched across the room to the liquor cabinet. If he was going to have to convince the young woman to travel half-way across the world at the request of a dead brother who had never once helped her out before, Jack refused to do so sober. "Absolutely. Taking you to the Caribbean is much more important now." He much preferred rum, but whiskey would do in a pinch, so he splashed some of the amber liquid into a glass and held it high in salute before downing the contents.

Of all the stupid things she had heard in her life… "Now, why on earth would I leave England?"

Blinking several times, Jack frowned momentarily, as if confused by the question, then poured himself some more whiskey. Brightening dramatically once he had downed the contents of another glass, he countered, "Why would you stay?"

Claire felt the need to pace, so she launched to her feet also. Balling her hands into fists so tight that her fingernails left half-moons in her palms, she hissed, "Because my life is here!"

His hand cut through the air as he dismissed her argument. "Rubbish! What life is that? You finally have the chance for freedom and you're going to turn your back on it?" It was obvious that she was indeed daft. _Always go with your first instincts, mate. But if that were the case, you would 'ave tumbled her by now. Oh bugger…_

The audacity of the man! "Well, I do not want to go. And who are you to say what I should or should not do with my life? You are as bad as my brother. And what did my brother ever do for me? Again, I am supposed to do what is best for him? I have no desire to leave civilization for that God-forsaken spit of land!"

"Again, rubbish, darling. Me compass 'ere says otherwise."

Claire looked at the object he held proudly in the palm of his hand and watched the arm dance around before settling into place. She wanted to cry in frustration, as it did not point north, but in a decidedly southwest direction. What kind of many would navigate with a broken compass? "Compass? It looks rather broken. It does not even point north."

Pulling his hands back against his chest, Jack held the compass protectively against his body. Almost as if he did not want the object hearing Claire's words. "There is nothing wrong with me compass, I'll have you know. It works just fine. It just 'appens to point to your heart's desire. And it is decidedly pointing in the direction of Port Royal."

_Towards Cutler._ Claire bit her lip in thought. A house waiting for her. She did not have to live there. Claire could go out there and sell it. And possibly see Cutler. _Why are you even contemplating this? Just sell the house, sight unseen, and forget that it even exists. _

Shaking her head in immediate response – and to also clear her head of heady thoughts of being reunited with Cutler, Claire took a step backwards and sunk back into her chair. "I… I cannot leave my home… my parents. I cannot go across the ocean unchaperoned. I will miss my debut season. How will I ever find a husband?"

Shaking is head in dismay, Jack poured himself a third glass of whiskey. "Why does anyone ever want to get entangled in the business of matrimony? The way that I see it, marriage is like a wager to see who will fall out of love first."

Claire smiled ruefully at the man who in such a short amount of time turned her life upside-down. "Who said anything about love? I am just looking for security. Love is… foolish." Even now, she could not admit to herself the depth of her feelings for a certain Lord Beckett.

Hearing the bitterness in her voice, Jack paused a moment before stopping in front of Claire and squatting down before her. "Luv, if you choose to lock your heart away you'll lose it for certain. Life involves a certain amount of risk that few are willing to take. And that is why few are ever truly 'appy. We all spend our lives wondering 'what if,' but which one of us takes that leap of faith in ourselves?"

_What am I thinking? Why am I thinking it?_ Swallowing hard, Claire gave a tentative nod of her head. "I... will go."

His smile was nearly blinding as the light from outside glinted off his gold-capped teeth. "Welcome to the Caribbean, luv."


	18. Chapter 18

**Obligatory disclaimer:** The Mouse owns all save for my own original characters.

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**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. Was out of work for two months and FRANTICALLY trying to find new employment. One would think that having that kind of time on my hands would allow for more writing, but the opposite was true. Now that I'm gainfully employed again, I hope to be more habitual in my updates.

But thanks for your patience. And thanks for taking the time to drop by!

* * *

Taking up position where she had every night for the past week since they left harbor in England, Claire stood at the railing of the _Black Pearl_, her hands clasped before her as she leaned on her elbows, watching the stars and moon reflect upon the black velvet water. The sky weighed heavily on her shoulders and she was grateful to brace herself against the balustrade.

During the day she was able to find diversions to make the day fly by – sewing, cooking, even some cleaning. But once the sun began its descent to kiss the horizon, Claire felt pangs of homesickness twist at her stomach. Wondering how her parents reacted to the note she left behind explaining her duties, Claire physically winced as she imagined her mother's disbelief and her father's outrage.

Knowing she was a coward for not telling her parents of her plans, Claire had snuck out into the dark London streets, slick from the heavy rains the day before, and made her way to where Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew were waiting on the ship, which was anchored away from the main shipping waters. Even as they hoisted anchor, Claire held no regrets as England began to slip away.

But each evening, as the sun sank closer and closer to the water's edge, there was a feeling of lament that surprised Claire. Where was it during the day?

Such feelings did not go unnoticed by Jack. Days turned into night and each evening he watched his passenger make her way to the railing of the ship and watch the waves for what seemed like hours. He had never interrupted her reverie.

Until now.

Making his way across the deck, Jack feigned only passing interest in what held Claire's attention out along the horizon. Soon after he had mimicked her stance along the railing, Jack turned around so that his back was to the water and his weight was resting on his elbows.

"Whadda ya thinkin' 'bout, luv?"

Claire turned and smiled sadly at the captain. There had not been much interaction between the two of them as Jack had usually been busy either manning the wheel or plotting course through the use of his broken compass. The few times he was not engaged in business involving the ship, he was sashaying about with a bottle of rum in hand.

But now his hands were empty and his breath, although slightly horrendous, was free from the scent of alcohol. He even smelled better than usual, having recently bathed and changed into a new set of clothes. It was difficult not to be curious about the circumstances that lead to his recent rendezvous with a bar of soap.

Not that Claire was complaining. As much as she tried not to find the captain charming, she was nonetheless drawn to him. But it seemed that it was not necessarily a physical attraction that drew her, for Claire noted that all of Captain Sparrow's crew hung on his every word.

However, at that moment, Claire was also very aware of how close Jack was standing to her. She could feel the heat of his body radiating off of his person and every so often, when a breeze would caress her cheek, the wind would flutter his shirt just enough to blouse out the sleeve so that it touched her arm.

"During the day, I get so excited about the adventure I am about to embark upon. I feel that William led this double life and that I never really knew him. I mean, a house! But… in the evenings… I think about everything I left behind. I have been standing here wondering what my parents are doing at this moment. I guess the darkness makes me melancholy."

Jack nodded his head in understanding, although he really did not know what the woman was talking about. He was a firm believer in living life with no regrets. But he was beginning to understand that the William he knew and the William that Claire knew were two different people. And for that, Jack felt he owed her some compassion for the confusion she was feeling.

Suddenly finding the rings on his fingers immensely interesting, Jack held his hands out before him and inspected his jewelry. Attempting to sound indifferent, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well my not-so-bonny lass, I have ascertained and deduced that as overhead sky has darkened and hours have passed since I last ate that the time has come to consume some of the swill that passes for food around here. And then I also decided that since many a day 'as passed since you an' I last spoke that I would come over 'ere to see if I might persuade you to join me for dinner in me quarters."

Claire darted a look at the captain out of the corner of her eye, but her only visible reaction was a dipping of her head. "I dare not," she whispered.

That was not the reaction Jack was expecting. He was expecting to be refused, but not in such a demure way. Face slapping and scoffing were the usual reactions to his advances – unless they agreed. Then quick work was made to find whatever bed or acceptable pallet was nearby, despite the nature of the offer.

Jack regarded Claire with a calculated eye. While the woman next to him was no fair Lizzie, she was nevertheless appealing. And oh so innocent. Others in his position of transporting an unchaperoned female would have corrupted Claire by now. And while strong-arming a woman into his bed was not his style, it was Jack's promise to William to look after the fair Claire that caused the captain to mind his manners.

But there was no way that he was not going to push for a more explicit answer. "Oh?"

Claire bit her lip, then turned to face the captain. She was hungry. And he did seem very kind. In fact, more so than just about any other man she had ever met. But if she learned anything from her time spent with Cutler, it was that no woman should allow herself to be alone with a man. Too many possible distractions could arise. "It would not be proper."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly stroked the length of his goatee. Jack could see her resolve weakening and could not help but take advantage, despite his promise to her brother. "Miss Russell, you are travelling 'alf-way across the world without benefit of chaperone. I think that proper got left behind in England when you stepped foot on me ship."

Claire could not argue his logic – and he as so rarely logical. And he looked very earnest. In fact, the pleading look in his eyes made Jack look younger. And vulnerable. She could feel herself slowly losing her resolve.

_Look away. Do not follow him into his quarters. To do so may end badly. How so, I cannot imagine, but that is the problem. Jack Sparrow is a worldly man and knows things that would probably make you head spin. And stop thinking about wanting to know things that would make your head spin! Just tell him no._

"I dare not," she repeated, slightly dismayed at her inability to make a decisive statement.

She did not say no exactly, so Jack felt the need to press his luck. Smiling smugly, he took a step closer to Claire, pinning her to the railing. "I think you should dare," he whispered against her ear.

A chill danced its way up and down Claire's spine. She knew that Jack must flirt with every woman that he met and that he meant nothing by it, but Claire found his charm quite intoxicating. _Just remember, he might say the same thing to your mother if she were here._ But there was something completely rebellious and unlike anything Claire had ever encountered about him. _It is the fact that Jack has everything you have ever wanted – freedom. _ "It is not that I do not wish to…" Claire admitted. In fact, the idea of setting all propriety aside and acting as his equal was so tempting. But women had their roles and men their own.

Jack suddenly realized that they might no longer be talking about consuming a meal in his quarters, but possibly dessert. Before, he was just teasing. But now Jack had to resist the urge to swallow hard. In fact, he felt like the situation was now pertaining to something more insidious than he originally intended.

However, that could be his own wishful thinking. It had been quite some time since Jack last tumbled a tart. In fact, it had been ever since he had laid eyes on one Miss Elizabeth Swann, to be precise. But Claire was pleasing to the eye… and infinitely more interesting than some of the wenches he had tumbled in the past. But there was the fact that she was dearly departed William's sister. And there was no denying that she was nothing like his fair Lizzie.

The thought of Elizabeth Swann dampened his spirits somewhat, but he made was last lecherous comment. "Then what is stopping you?"

Claire had been looking down at the wooden planks the made up the deck, but the need for brutal honesty crashed down upon her. No more games. No more hidden meanings. A new life spilled out before her and Claire could finally be who she longed to be all those years. A frank smile curved her lips as she cocked her head to the side. "The fact that I wish to. I think it would be ill-advised. But I thank you all the same for the offer. But I think I shall take my meal in my room."

"I would be happy to join you there," Jack said hopefully. Something happened to Claire in the span of a blink of an eye and Jack was unsure of what exactly it was. A poise that was missing earlier suddenly strengthened her backbone. And Jack was suddenly intrigued in Claire once again.

"Alone." Her tone brooked no challenge and with a nod of her head, Claire took a step around the captain and made her way towards her cabin.

Jack watched Claire's retreating back until she disappeared from sight, then shoved off the railing and trailed slowly behind her.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save for my original characters.

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A/N: Thank you all for your patience. I missed this story, but it took me a bit to climb back in. I appreciate you stopping by to take a peek!

* * *

Once Mister Gibbs dropped off her bags, then gave her a spontaneous hug before departing back for the ship, Claire felt all of her bravado ebb away. Never feeling less sure of herself – or more alone – she wondered why she listened to the convincing words of Captain Sparrow. _I should have just stayed hidden away in my room._

But there was no turning back. There was nowhere else to go. Returning home to England was not an option, as her reputation was now completely torn to shreds. Perhaps even worse than if she had given herself over to Cutler. Nor was there enough money for passage until she squared away William's estate with a local lawyer.

Her heart was beating so fast that Claire's head swam and she had to grab a hold of the doorframe, lest she fall. Wetting her lips in anticipation and taking a deep breath, she inserted the key in the lock and chuckled mirthlessly when she heard a satisfying click as the tumblers slid into place, opening the front door.

Closing her eyes and forcing herself to slow her breathing, Claire pushed the door open and left her bags just outside, not wanting to lose track of them as she explored her new abode.

The house appeared to be well maintained. Lived in actually. Claire frowned slightly, immediately hearing her mother's voice telling her that such displays were not only unlady-like, but also the source of women looking older than their years. _But Mother, this place not only looks as if someone not only keeps it clean, but resides here. _And based on the dishes waiting to be washed, someone lived that not just on a semi-regular basis, but permanently.

_Odd. Who would have thought my brother would have hired someone to watch the home in his absence. Or possibly a renter…?_

The rooms were sparsely furnished, but books, ledges, maps and other papers littered most available surfaces. But while there were islands of clutter, the rooms – as Claire investigated the house – were startlingly clean. But, Claire mused, with all the sand, anything other than hardwood floors and whitewashed walls would be tantamount to absurdity.

The resident of the house was decidedly masculine, the smell of cigars and various liquors permeating the air. And once she climbed the stairs, her fingertips skating across the beautifully carved banister, Clair enter to be a dressing room and was greeted by an abandoned pair of pants, white lawn shirt and intricately embroidered jacket folded upon a chairback.

The only other time she had ever seen men's clothing not being worn was when Cutler shed his. And then she had paid no attention, as she was more focused on his state of undress than what he had discarded.

_God's Teeth, but why are you thinking of such things at this time?_

A sudden boom of a door slamming open and footsteps thundering up the stairs caused Claire to take a step backwards, upsetting the chair and its contents, in an attempt to find a place to hide.

"Stop where you are! You're under arrest!"

Claire spun around so fast that she nearly lost her balance. Before her was a row of Royal Navy officers, swords drawn and at the ready. She instantly reached for the nearest piece of furniture to hold onto, lest she faint. As she did so, the swords raised, the officers ready in case Claire was groping for an available weapon. But she was just looking for something stable and benign. The cool wood of the side table was not the soothing abatement she was hoping for. Rather, it reminded her that the situation was real and not a figment of her imagination.

Wanting nothing more than to drop into a chair and weep, Claire steadfastly held onto the tabletop to maintain her balance and whispered, "On what charges?" This was ludicrous! _How did I enter this bad dream? I was awake a few moments ago? Was I not...?_

One of the officers stepped forward and grasped her elbow. "Trespassing."

He then drug her out of the house.

* * *

Claire sat on the rough hewn rock floor of the cell, her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees, her head tipped back against the wall. _How in the Bloody Hell did I end up here?_

Of course, she had revisited that question many times over the past day and a half.

Initially, her thoughts instantly turned to Jack Sparrow and his inane idea of traveling half-way around the world to collect an inheritance from her brother. Having never done anything without a clear and calculated thought process, save for letting Cutler attempt to woo her, walking away from everything she knew was the antithesis of how Claire saw the world. But having an opportunity so eloquently and tantalizingly defined caused Claire to get swept up in heady emotions.

Then there was the time spent on board with Jack.

_Jack. Look at how familiar you have gotten with him._

The trip from England to London was exceptionally long, as they seemed to be fighting unexpected wind at every turn. And Claire did her best to keep herself occupied during the day, proving to be indispensable when clothing needed mending or when wind ripped a hole in a canvas.

But it was when the shadows bled into the night that left Claire with little to do. In which Jack hoped to be just the diversion to fill her time. And as intriguing, and intimidating, as the offers were, Claire was well aware that his attentions were only because of the female persuasion.

However, she could not deny that there was a certain charm that the captain held. Possibly in another world, she might have allowed herself to be swept up in his flowery words…

But it was still nice when he would sidle up and say, "My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled," despite Claire instinctively knowing it was a line that he had probably used before. Having someone care, whether through façade or fact, warmed her heart.

And one night when she questioned her impulsive decision to leave England, he responded, "One word love; curiosity. You long for freedom. You long to do what you want to do because you want it. To act on selfish impulse. You want to see what it's like. One day you won't be able to resist." He then went on that this choice would lead to others, until everything she did was because she wished for it – not because it was expected or others dictated her decisions.

_And look where is got me._

Ignoring the cold and damp that seeped through the walls, despite the hot and humid temperature raging outside, Claire had a much harder time pretending the rotting stench of decay and previously unwashed bodies housed within the confines did not make her stomach roil. The food she was given could have been worse, but because her surroundings were nigh on unbearable, Claire generally scooted it away, only to have it be retrieved – untouched – when the next meal was brought.

She needed to put her mind to other thoughts.

But there was the issue hanging over her head, almost literally.

Trespassing was grounds for hanging.

A loud clang echoed down the hallway, interrupting her misery, followed by increasing tapping of footsteps towards Claire's cell. Trying to brace herself for the worst possible news, as it was well past the dinner hour and no good news could happen around midnight, Claire nearly wept with joy when she saw her new companion.

"Claire!"

Quickly scrambling to her feet, Claire launched herself at the bars, her fingers wrapping around them as if her life depended on it. "Cutler!" It was so wonderful to see someone she knew, although there was also a detachment to him. He looked leaner, more feral, more predatory than when she saw him last. _Of course, the last time you spent time with him, you were getting ready to settle your brother's bet._

Her cheeks burned in memory and Claire broke eye contact with Cutler.

She then saw the Navy officers standing at attention behind him, the full weight of their collective glare bearing down on her. "Lord Beckett," she amended, her voice barely a whisper.

Cutler's gaze raked across Claire, a tangible weight across her person. Thinner than the last time he saw her, Cutler took complete inventory of the prisoner before him. Her dress was simple, stained and rumpled, but she looked more beautiful than a woman had any right to, especially under the circumstances. Her hair had fallen into thick fingers down her back. Smudges of dirt arced across her forehead and left cheekbone.

But there was a boldness and grit, buried beneath the very real and present fear, which had taken root. The girl – woman – he had last seen but a few months before would never have been so audacious as to embark on the adventure Claire undertook. But, also, Cutler knew that after the death of William, a part of Claire died that day too.

_I am very curious about who she has transformed into. _

News had reached his ears that an intruder had been found in his home the day before, but when he finally looked up from his work asked who it was that had broken into his lodging and found it was a woman, he immediately left his office and made his way to the prison. "What are you doing here?"

Claire. Sweet, delicate Claire was not only in Jamaica, in Port Royale… but had been in his home. Had been apprehended in his dressing room. If he hadn't been so shocked by the thought, Cutler would have mused that nothing else could have been so fortuitous. While there was no way she could know that he had taken possession of William's home, Claire had to have known he ended up in Port Royale. Why did she not find him first off?

Or was she spying on him?

There was no anger in his eyes, but a wariness lurked there, as if Cutler was expecting a trap. Claire straightened her shoulders and held his gaze. "I was arrested. For trespassing. In. My. Home." She was thrilled that her voice came out even and calm, despite the fact her heart was threatening to take flight. Claire knew that Cutler knew how terrified she was, but there was no way she was going to beg for help. Yet.

_In my home. _

_Interesting_.

The tone of his voice was droll as he clarified, "I meant here in Jamaica. I know why you are in this cell. I'm here to take you from these vile surroundings." _Did she find William's will? There is no possible way – is there? But why else would she be here? Now? _

The sense of relief Claire felt made her want to weep with joy. Instead, she let out a shaky laugh and felt brave enough to ask, "How am I being charged with trespassing? My brother owned the home and I brought a copy of his will with me to verify. I only came to claim what he gave me." If she could only get out and show Cutler the papers in her bag, everything would be back to the way it should be. And maybe once Cutler helped her gain her freedom once more, they could discuss the events of the past. _One issue at a time, Claire._

Knowing that he was about to lie made Cutler feel a slight sense of remorse, but since there was no other way, he pressed forward with his plans. "But my dear Claire, there was no will found in your belongings. Believe me, the Navy officers who apprehended you went through your belongings several times over and found nothing of the sort. The house was owned by the East India Trading Company and was gifted to me when I became acting Governor of Jamaica. You invaded my home."

Claire felt her legs give out from under her and was helpless but to collapse in a heap on the floor, her hands dragging down the length of the bars. Once she was a puddle on the floor, she began to tremble and had to remember how to breathe. William's home – her home – was… Cutler's home?

For several long moments, Claire stared at the tops of Cutler's Hessian boots. "What do I do? I had a key. It came with the will. I did not break in. You know that I caused no damage. How could I have gotten in without some sort of permission? Who is charging me with this crime?"

Cutler stared down at Claire, wanting nothing more than to sink to the floor also, taking her in his arms, and whispering words of comfort against her neck. Instead, he arched a brow and answered, "I was the one charging you for breaking into my home, of which I will be glad to drop."

Relief washed over Claire's face and she heaved a very unlady-like sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. The charge's were being dropped! Cutler was dropping the charges!

Until Cutler continued.

"But I have one condition."

A condition. Not surprising, knowing Cutler, but a terrifying prospect considering what he had previously been willing to purchase to clear William's debt. Claire forced herself to look up at her captor. _He is going to make me follow through with the bargain we entered._

She waited, time going backwards, until she heard him continue, "We be married by week's end. Traveling all this way, unchaperoned, is scandalous. I plan on making an honest woman out of you."

Claire's eyes widened in shock. That was not the answer she was expecting.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save for my original characters.

* * *

It was done.

Their vows pledged, a chaste kiss exchanged for the benefit of the guests, and then Cutler accepting congratulations and laudations – laughing and vigorously hand shaking as he did so. The crowd was small; mainly employees of the East India Trading Company, Naval officers, and a few dignitaries residing in Port Royale. Very few brought any sort of female companion and the few women in attendance kept to themselves, barely casting Claire a glance. In fact, almost none of the attendees recognized Claire beyond a murmur of well wishes or a chin bob of acknowledgment.

Claire almost felt as if she were infringing on someone else's party.

With her fingers curled around the crook of Cutler's elbow, the fabric of his dark brown, double-breasted waistcoat warm beneath her hand, she dutifully followed wherever he led her across the piazza of what was now her new home. A quartet of musicians played stringed instruments in the corner and table with finger foods was set up off to the side. The scent of orange blossoms filled the air – bouquets of the flowers trimmed the terrace. The scene was really was quite lovely – although for someone else other than Claire – as she had to swallow back some of the bitterness she felt over the fact that the house was now her home, rather than it now being Cutler's. But with no will, there was no way to prove possession.

_But it, I suppose, it is now mine, also, by default. _

She curved her lips in a benign smile and let her mind wander as Cutler chatted with a Naval officer, the two of them discussing upcoming plans to thwart pirate activities in local waters – something that held no interest to Claire, especially on her wedding day. Both spoke in conspiratorial tones, totally discrediting Claire, who was happy enough to be ignored – it gave her a chance to process what had just happened.

Now Lady Claire Beckett, the fact that she was married outdoors on the terrace surrounding her new home with strangers witnessing her nuptials, rather than in a church surrounded by family and friends wrenched Claire's heart. _If Mother ever finds out, and I am certain that word will reach her in due time, she will be heartsick that she was not able to witness my wedding. In fact, she will be almost as devastated as I am. But when does life ever go according to plans? _

Once Claire left the jail cell, Cutler whisked her back to the home she was arrested for invading. The hour was so late that it was actually early, nearly dawn, and she did not question the Naval contingent that followed them. In fact, so tired Claire was that she immediately fell asleep on Cutler's shoulder in the carriage and he had to carry her, still asleep, into the house. How she woke up in a clean chemise, and nothing else, had not yet been addressed.

When she awoke, late the next morning, golden light spilled into her room as the curtains were slowly drawn. As Claire stretched languidly and yawned, she was quickly startled fully awake by a maid who was quietly creeping through the room, setting out Claire's toiletries and arranging a table by the window for breakfast. Why the woman's presence was so completely unexpected, Claire could not say, but Claire would have been less surprised if she had found Cutler slipping beneath the covers.

After breakfasting, during which Claire took stock of the magnificent room that she inhabited, she allowed her new maid, Bridget, to draw a bath. Immersed chin-deep in the water, Claire closed her eyes in disbelief when Bridget broke the news that Claire's garments she wore when arrested had not only been disposed of, but burned. Beyond filthy and vile, Bridget parroted to Claire. Shocked, Claire felt, once again, that any semblance of control of her affairs being ripped away from her.

However, a seamstress was to arrive within the hour and a whole new wardrobe was to be commissioned. Bridget spoke in excited whispers as she animatedly conveyed the information Lord Beckett had given the newly hired maid. Hiding in the tub, then in bed, was not an option. Bridget interpreted Claire's stony silence as staggering astonishment.

The wedding was to take place Friday afternoon. And as it was Wednesday morning when Claire awoke in her new bedchamber, a wedding dress was going to need to be created expeditiously, but without the appearance it being thrown together, especially at the last possible minute.

Quickly dressing in premade-clothing that had been acquired before Claire rose from bed – that actually fit surprisingly well – she then demurely accepted the swarm that invaded her room when the seamstress and her staff arrived. _Why on earth have I not even seen Cutler yet? _

But once Claire allowed the seamstress, a matronly woman who was used to getting her own way, as well as her small army of assistants, entrance to her room, the day was lost in an avalanche of samples, swatches, patterns and fittings. After the third sample that was shown to her that reminded her of something her grandmother would wear, Claire asked for paper and ink.

It only took moments for Missus Gaffney, the seamstress, to realize that her client had an eye for fashion and design. Coming to an understanding, Claire was finally able to not only able to redirect what items she wanted for her trousseau, but also adapt the many samples that had been brought in into usable garments. Claire's knowledge of garment construction and the fit and texture of various materials not only impressed the seamstress, but also provided insight and ideas that she promised to incorporate for other patrons.

But despite bringing all of her best dresses with her, it was decided by everyone, save Claire, that the garments Claire had brought from England were not of the caliber fitting the soon-to-be wife of the acting Governor of Jamaica. They might be excellent house dresses, but it would not behoove Claire to be seen in public wearing them.

Then came time for _the_ dress.

It would seem that everyone had a vastly different opinion on what Claire should wear. Claire, faced with the idea of marrying the day after next, decided to be practical. Missus Gaffney had a honey-colored silk brocade skirt and jacket that Claire wanted to adapt into a gown. The feel of the fabric was sumptuous and the color made Claire's skin practically glow. And it was just more practical to adapt the pieces due to the time constraint.

So adamant was she in her opinion, that Claire shouted her viewpoint when the others spoke over her, arguing that she needed a gown made from scratch – which then brought the rest of the household running in surprise. Showing more verve than even Claire knew she had, the door was emphatically closed on the household staff so that dress negotiations could continue.

Claire could not help being disappointed that Cutler was not amongst the people populating her doorframe.

And in the end, Claire won. The neckline was adapted and a hat was created. While ideas were being created and executed, Bridget circled the group with a critical eye, planning how she was going to style Claire's hair. It had been such a long time since Claire had been the focus of so much attention that it was almost overwhelming – and she hoped that life would settle into calm and tranquil, although Claire knew better than to hold her breath.

However, after the vows were actually exchanged and the certificate was signed, Claire could not believe that despite the maelstrom leading up to the wedding, the afternoon had turned out to be quite wearisome rather than winsome. Barely able to remember the past few days because of all the havoc leading up to the wedding, Claire realized that she had never felt more ignored than she was at that moment. Living in William's shadow, she had been slighted many times, but not when the spotlight was supposed to be Claire's.

_And considering that I am the BRIDE… _

But as much as Claire wished the circumstances to be different, she was now wedded. And soon, it would be just a matter of being bedded.

Once, not so very long ago, the idea of Cutler's attentions was not only intimidating, but also intoxicating. Now, the idea of the later intimacy they would share was something she did not want to think about. No longer did she long for his ministrations with a schoolgirl's enthusiasm. The teasing and touching they had previously experienced now felt like a lifetime ago.

However, Claire was not without hope. She held no grudge against Cutler over the death of her brother and the letter Cutler had sent mended many of the aches in her heart. So there was hope that despite the chasm that had opened between them emotionally could be bridged… possibly through a physical connection.

Especially after the judge, who had presided over the nuptials, gave a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, "If anyone can tame him, it would be you, my dear," before hastily departing, as he was officiating at a wedding the following morning. Murmurs through the crowd hinted that it was the Governor's daughter getting married. And since Cutler was stepping on Governor Swann's toes by recently being installed as acting Governor, Claire knew that her social circle would not expand in that direction.

_So, I am a stranger in a strange land, I have no friends, a husband I realize that I do not know and have no idea what I am supposed to do after tonight. _

His conversation with the Naval officer at an end, Cutler silently lead Claire over to the balustrade that overlooked the harbor. The sun hung low, just about to kiss the water, and the world was colored in blazing hues of crimson, amber and gold. The sea turned into molten honey and everyone's pallor was tinged in flaxen hues, turning their skin tawny. A warm wind caressed her skin, making Claire want to close her eyes in pleasure. Instead, she focused on Cutler, waiting for him to speak.

"It looks like it may rain."

_THESE are the first words he says to me as my husband? Gah… _

Claire looked up at the sky, noticing a bank of clouds slowly rolling in. A shiver went up her spine. Her grandmother used to tell her that for every raindrop that falls on one's wedding day, a bride would an equal amount of tears. "It mayhap. You would know better than I, as this is literally a whole new world to me. 'Tis a beautiful sky at the very least." Back in London, the smell of rain would penetrate the odor of the city, causing Claire to retreat onto the porch for as long as possible, enjoying the repast from the normal scents of the city.

_Why am I thinking about my previous life? The one that I cannot go back to, no matter how much I might want to? Why cannot I not say that which I feel? That I am confused. That ignoring me from the time he took me home until today greatly hurt my feelings. That he looks handsome. That…_

His next words interrupted her mental rant. Quiet and almost melodious, the sentiment nonetheless made Claire swallow back a rising panic. "I think that we should consider bringing the festivities to an end and retreat indoors. Before the heavens open and wash us all away."

Indoors.

Knowing she had to answer in the affirmative, whether she wished to do so or not, Claire took a deep breath and bobbed her head once in agreement. "I agree that allowing the guests to retreat home before the rains descend would be the polite thing to do," she acquiesced, her voice low, her gaze decidedly fixed on the clouds above her as she felt her cheeks stain red. The implications of what would transpire once the two of them were alone caused Claire to grasp the railing for support, the rough, chiseled surface a welcome sensation amid the swirling panic that threatened to overwhelm her. _Why are you more scared now than you were when you trading your virginity to negate William's gambling debt?_

_Simply put - because I had been given a choice. I could have said no. Today… the past few days… there was no choice. And it is not that I am afraid of the relations that we will soon experience – I know better than that – but I am afraid that once I give myself to him completely, I will lose myself completely. _

An awkward silence hung in the air between them, neither of them moving, neither of them looking at one another. Moments became eons as the tension between them grew. Claire wondered if Cutler's muscles screamed in agony like hers from the tension that twisted them into knots, if his stomach roiled in trepidation of what life lay before them.

But, more than anything, Claire wanted Cutler to touch her, not in an overt way, but rather as a gesture of comfort and solidarity – despite her apprehensions about their later activities. Initiating any sort of physical contact that might make Claire feel less alone in the crowd that swirled around them. A touch, no matter how small or trite, would have done much to assuage Claire's concerns and fears. She could feel her body vibrate with foreboding and vexation.

_Before, he could not keep his hands off me. Now, I do not long for the intimacy that we previously engaged in, but rather a more emotional connection that we have not shared since we were children. Bah, when did life get so complicated? I miss the Cutler of my childhood. This man is practically a stranger to me. More so than when he was courting me – and even then I was so very confused._

And then, suddenly, a touch – ever so brief and cautious. His knuckles grazed against her jaw line as he whispered, "Claire?"

The hesitation in his voice nearly undid her; he sounded almost… _nervous_. But hearing her name breaking the quiet between them brought Claire's gaze down from the heavens to rest on Cutler.

He was close, so close. The distance between them had not been more than a step or two, but now the hem of her skirt brushed against his pant leg. Suddenly feeling a chill creep through her bones, despite fire racing through her veins, Claire felt the heat of Cutler radiate off her person, caressing her skin. His breath grazed across her skin, causing all the breath to suddenly leave Claire's lungs.

_Maybe I do want him to touch me like he once did…_

"Yes?" Claire tried not to flinch as her answer came out rushed and apprehensive, despite being just a single word. _Do not act like a giddy little poppet! Do not!_

Swallowing hard, he raised his chin and smiled, tightly, as if the gesture was awkward or foreign. "You look lovely. I have been remiss in not saying anything sooner."

Her mouth went dry, causing words to become trapped in her throat, burning to escape. _What? After the first words you just said, I never expected those to be your second_. "You flatter me, Cutler." She dropped her gaze and stared at the toes of her silk slippers, both pleased and embarrassed by Cutler's observation.

Cutler scoffed, "I speak nothing but the truth." But he was charmed not only by her demure modesty, but also her bashful grin she was trying to hide. He felt… almost bucolic. The pain of twisted muscles left his neck and shoulders, leaving Cutler in a state of amenity that he had not felt in too many years to recall. He looked forward to having someone in his life who knew him for who he was, not what he could or would do. It would be a lovely change of pace.

"Thank you, mi' lord. You look quite striking yourself." Claire felt her lips curve into an involuntary smile and color tinge her cheeks, feeling as though this was the first time they had been truly honest with one another in a very long time. She could not believe how bold she was acting, but considering everything the two of them had been through previously, Claire knew she was acting relatively demure. Her chin went up a degree.

Cutler smirked wanly, hoping Claire would not notice that it failed to reach his eyes. The events that were about to be set into motion were not something he ever wished Claire to not only know of, but be tainted by. Any tainting of Claire will be purely the sybaritic kind and done by himself personally. But what he was on the brink of unleashing would have far reaching repercussions – and would possibly catapult the two of them into the upper echelon of not only the East India Trading Company, but possibly the political spectrum. Governor of Jamaica was not the pinnacle of his plans, but it was a lucrative stepping stone. If he could see his plans through to fruition, Cutler would make sure that Claire wanted for nothing.

"You are very kind, Claire. More so than I deserve, I daresay. But I am quite fortuitous. Your arrival could have been laced with scandal, but despite the unplanned wedlock, there is no one more that I would rather spend my days, and nights, with than you. I had never hoped to have the opportunity to resume our courtship, and while the point would seem rather moot now, I do promise to do everything in my power to make you proud to be my wife, while also doing everything I can to ensure your happiness." As if embarrassed by his sudden outburst of a speech, Cutler took a step away and clasped his hands behind his back. The nature of the sky seemed to suddenly capture his attention once again.

"That is very generous of you, Cutler."

Cutler scoffed, rocking slightly on his heels. "Generosity has nothing to do with it, but it is kind of you to think that. I enjoy your company and hope we might rekindle what we recently shared. Plus, it is just good business."

Business?

_This is nothing more than a business arrangement?_

Looking up, Cutler took a deep breath and attempted to steer the conversation back to the previous topic he had originally initiated. "Thunder will not warn us of forthcoming rain, so we best consider retreating into the house lest we get caught in its clutches."

Claire closed her eyes and hoped Cutler didn't see her tense. Soon she would be more than just his wife than in name only. Afraid to speak, lest her voice waver, Claire silently nodded her head in agreement.

Mistaking her silence for fear of what was about to transpire once they removed themselves to the house, Cutler rushed to fill the quiet. "Claire, not to be vulgar, but most men consider their wedding nights to be about themselves. I do not; it is a celebration of two people joining into a union as one – in every way. Most women are apprehensive of what occurs post-vows, but please understand that I do not plan to take anything from you. I want to give. And hope that you wish to give also. But that is your choice. Not mine."

Immediately transported back to the many moments they shared where Claire felt nothing but pleasure, as well as guilt, under the careful tutelage of Cutler's fingers and mouth, heat immediately rose to her cheeks. If what transpired happened within the boundaries of propriety and restraint, Claire could only image what would whet Cutler's appetite now that they were joined in matrimony. Although, her thoughts then wandered to when William burst into Cutler's bedroom…

_Do. Not. Think. About. That. Night. Do not!_

"Thank you for having my interests at heart," Claire whispered. Her immediate reaction was that it was a well-rehearsed delivery, as women were but an accessory to their husbands, but the conviction in his words softened her assessment. However, she would still wait for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

A short bark of laughter was Cutler's instant response, followed by an amused shake of his head. "Your interests are mine. I hope that the sentiment is reciprocal." He fixed his gaze on his wife and regarded her intently, as if seeing her for the first time. Even now they were dancing steps around each other, but social interaction with his peers was never his forte. Impressing strangers and acquaintances was where his comfort zone laid. Those that meant the most to him were those that he had the worst time expressing sentiment towards.

And that would be something that he would do his best to bridge, but for the moment, he had done the best he could without leaving himself feeling completely vulnerable. As it was, he felt very exposed and wanted nothing more than to shut himself down emotionally. _But not today. Not with Claire. I hope. _

"Of course, Cutler. You are now my husband, but have we not always shared mutual amusements all of our life?" Claire's brow furrowed in confusion. And yet again, Cutler was proving to be confounding and confusing.

Dropping his chin to his collarbone, Cutler's voice was husky as he admitted, "Sometimes more so than I did with your brother." He then closed his eyes and remembered days gone by. A deep sigh escaped his lungs.

Claire staggered under the honesty and conviction on his words. She reached blindly for the railing again, lest she stumble. _Why now? And how do I end this conversation without injuring his pride?_

Then his next words caused a sob to hiccup out of her throat.

"I am sorry Claire."

Already feeling too exposed and overemotional from not only the day's activities, but all of the preceding ones , Claire felt them finally culminate together into that moment. Shaking her head violently in an effort to fight back tears, Claire felt the curls that Bridget had worked so diligently on creating earlier that morning bouncing against her cheeks that were now wet with tears. Knowing that they either needed to return to their guests – or retreat – Claire wanted to end the direction the conversation was taking. "Please, speak no more of that. What happened, happened. I witnessed… Your intentions were more pure than his. On the… field.

True remorse colored Cutler's features. He took a step back towards Claire, his hand reaching out for hers. "Claire, I did not mean to upset you–."

Putting her hands up to silence Cutler's apologies, she again emphatically shook her head in the negative. "It is not your fault," Claire interrupted. "Please… I bear you no ill-will. The past few days have been but a whirlwind and I am very tired and confused. However, William made his own lot in life. I want nothing more to focus on the future – our future – not the past. You had said previously that we should retreat for the evening – perhaps we should say our goodbyes."

A frown spoiled Cutler's smooth brow as annoyance crept into his voice. "Worry not about that. I will let some of the others know of your departure, then follow suit myself. But… did you receive the letter I sent you? I will not mention this again, but did you ever have a chance to read my words?"

Blinking back more tears, Claire tipped back her head and stared at the swirling clouds overhead. The wind was beginning to pick up, playfully pulling loose tendrils of hair, as well as tugging at the hem of her skirt. _Stay. The. Course._ "Yes. And you have no idea how much they meant to me. But Cutler, I must really insist that the conversation end here. I do not want to quarrel with you over this, but our weeding day is to be about joy – not loss. We will both think of William – and speak of him from time to time – but I cannot handle this right now, Cutler. Please understand, I am not dismissing you. Or my brother. But we cannot change what has happened. And with so much yet to extricate in our now joined lives, I am not sure that I can handle William's ghost assailing us tonight. Or, really, ever. What is done, is done. The same as our wedding. I only want to focus on the now and the future – not the past."

Cutler stared at his bride for several long moments, his lips parted, as if unsure of what to say. _What is done, is done. The same as our wedding._ Claire's words echoed in his head for what seemed like an eternity before he remembered to finally speak. "As you wish Claire, but know this – I married you for you, not out of some sort of guilt or allegiance I feel towards William. I do not suffer fools, even slightly, so marrying you was not something I entered into lightly. Nor was it something I acted on out of duty or obligation, but rather than affection. I am not talking about a storybook tale with a happily ever after, but rather admiration, respect and trust. The foundation of all good relationships – personal or otherwise. Now, if you wish to retire to your dressing chamber and prepare for bed, I will have Mercer shut down the festivities."

Not at all sure of how to react, Claire mutely nodded in agreement. She had wounded his pride - severely. Which was the exact opposite of her intent. But the tightness of his jaw and the spot of color highlighting his cheekbones were not the telltale signs of his frustration, but rather it was the way that Cutler flared his nostrils and held his arms behind his back, his left hand clasped around his right forearm. If the circumstances were different, Claire would give him a few days of breathing room to blow through his irritation. But now she was being excused from her own reception with nary a conversation with a single guest – to go and prepare for the soon-to-occur divesting of her virginity. With a man who was very irked by her request to not speak of the one person that bridged their lives – William.

_William prevented me from parting with my virtue once before, but if I do not make amends with Cutler, and quickly, my brother may make my wedding night much more difficult than it need be. _

Not sure of what else to do, Claire opted for the most direct – and possibly easiest, possibly not – course of action. Taking a deep breath, she launched into her apology, "Cutler. I apologize. I should not have been so sharp. I am…"

Putting the fingers of his right hand across her lips, Cutler silenced Claire, smiling at her consideration. Soon, very soon, his fingers would be elsewhere. "Claire, there is nothing to apologize for. You still grieve, as do I. And thoughts of sadness have no place on such a day as today. I should not have began such a topic, nor pushed as I did."

Giving Claire another chaste kiss on the cheek, Cutler captured her hand in his and drug his thumbnail across the plain of her palm before giving it a quick squeeze. He then pivoted on his heel and marched into the crowd of guests, making straight for his manservant, Mercer. Cutler snapped his fingers twice, as if calling a dog, and Mercer instantly scurried over to his side.

Standing rooted in place, Claire could hear Cutler say, "Mercer! Will you please arrange for clean up? Lady Beckett and I are calling it a night."

A knowing smiled twisted Mercer's lips, but no remark passed through them. "As ye wish, sir."

Her stomach twisting in knots, Claire realized that if she could hear their conversation, so could everyone else. And while she knew that everyone knew what would take place, as it took place on every wedding night, hearing it put into voice made her feel… defiled.

Rather than feeling that she was beginning a new venture and adventure, like she did when she sailed on the Black Pearl with Captain Sparrow, Claire felt as if she were about to plunge into a dark and dangerous abyss. Although it seemed like it was someone else's life rather than her own, Claire had vague memories of her friends tittering on about getting married and finally living the lives they were intended to live. Or some such nonsense. Knowing who she was all along, but unable to blossom under the long shadow William cast.

And now it would seem that Claire was trading one autocratic man obfuscating her personality for another.

Closing her eyes in concession, Claire shut the door, the latch catching with a soft click that seemed to reverberate inside her head.


End file.
